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THE MASTER AND THE TWELVE 
Rev. J. W. G. WARD 


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Rev. J. W. G. WARD 


MINISTER OF EMMANUEL CHURCH, MONTREAL; 
FORMERLY OF NEW COURT CHURCH, 
TOLLINGTON PARK, LONDON 


Author of “Parables for Little People,’ “Messages 


from Master Minds,” “Problems That 
Perplex,” etc. 





GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT, 1924, 
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


THE MASTER AND THE TWELVE 
bts, «YL 28 
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


TO 


MY FATHER AND MOTHER 
DEVOUT DISCIPLES OF 
JESUS CHRIST 





FOREWORD 
1 ee materials for these mosaics of the Apostles 


have been sought in many places, and the 
figures depicted are mainly those made familiar by 
literature and art. But just as the craftsmen in 
those spheres have allowed their imagination to 
play about their subject, we have taken a like lib- 
erty, using the recorded incidents in the career of 
the Apostles where we could, yet also striving to 
understand and interpret the character and point 
of view of each, even when only the scantiest mate- 
rial has been available. 

These studies of the Master and the Twelve are 
published in the sincere hope that they may prove 
helpful to all who would fain be found in the true 
apostolical succession of those who love and follow 
Christ. Guided by the example of these men called 
to that sacred fellowship, warned by their mistakes, 
and inspired by their ultimate devotion, may grace 
be given to us to follow in their train. 


J. W. G. Warp. 
Emmanuel Church, 
Montreal. 





CHAPTER 


I 
II 
iil 
IV 
V 
VI 


CONTENTS 


ANDREW, THE Man or Lowry LoyAtty 


JOHN, THE MAN oF INTUITIVE LovE . 


JAMES, THE INTREPID. 10 Se eed ats 
PETER, THE IMPETUOUS . : ; : : 
PHILIP, THE PRUDENT . : ; : 


NATHANAEL, THE DEVOUT . ‘ : 

MATTHEW, THE Man oF BUSINESS. : 
‘THOMAS, THE RATIONALIST . : ; p 
SIMON, THE ENTHUSIAST . Santis ? 
NV UDBUTHE. INGENUOUSUNIt sy tar ne se ais, 

JAMES, THE MAN oF UNRECORDED FIDELITY 
Jupas, THE MAN oF PERVERTED POWERS . 


THe MASTER OF THE [TWELVE . ; : 


PAGE 


13 
31 
52 
74 
100 
115 
133 
153 
174 
192 
202 
214 


235 


in FI ; 
bee 


‘ 





THE MASTER AND THE TWELVE 





THE MASTER AND 
THE TWELVE 


I 


ANDREW, THE MAN OF LOWLY 
LOYALTY 


“One of the two that heard John speak 
was Andrew.” 
—JOHN I: 40. 


[fu is the lot of the man of average ability to be 
overshadowed by those who possess more bril- 
liance, and Andrew is a case in point. He is de- 
scribed as Simon Peter’s brother. In all the lists 
of the Apostles given by the Evangelists, Peter is 
invariably mentioned first, and Andrew is never 
found among the first three. Yet possibly he was 
the first to be called to the apostolic company, 
and it was through him that Peter was brought to 
know the Saviour for himself. We therefore give 
to him the premier place in our study, for though 
he may not have been as distinguished as some, 
though he has few recorded deeds placed to his 
credit, he was a man not only worthy of a place 
in the chosen twelve, but one whose acquaintance 
is worth cultivating. There are few who possess 
the powerful personality of Peter, or the spiritual 


sensitiveness of either James or John. The world 
13 


14 The Master and the Twelve 


singles out such men for its praise and approbation. 
They leave the impress of their lives on multitudes. 
But the quieter souls who lack such gifts and who 
yet make a lasting contribution to the wealth of the 
world are often forgotten, passing unrecognised to 
lonely graves. That is why Andrew merits our sin- 
cere regard, and though he needs no praise such as 
we can bestow, though it is too late to lay our 
laurels on his tomb, we can at least pay him the 
compliment of emulating his lowly loyalty to the 
Master. 
Shakespeare says that: 


ieee asa SCOMMOons prool, 


‘That lowliness is young ambition’s ladder, 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; 
But when he once attains the upmost round, 
He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend.” 


In the case of Andrew that hardly applies. He 
was not ambitious in the ordinary sense. Had he 
been so, there would have been good cause for fric- 
tion and bitterness in the apostolic band, as we 
shall see. He was, however, keenly desirous of 
knowing the best and loving the highest. ‘This is 
apparent when we consider 


THE CHARACTER OF ANDREW. 


He was only a fisherman living in Bethsaida on 
Lake Galilee, and probably knew little of the great 
world which had been laid under tribute by Rome. 
His nights were spent in laborious toil, and his con- 


Andrew, the Man of Lowly Loyalty 15 


tact with his fellows was possibly limited to the 
visits he paid to the town in order to sell his catch. 
Those visits were infrequent. He would most 
likely leave that part of the business either to 
Jonas, his father, now too old to work the boat, 
or to Simon Peter, who, being a keener man of 
business, would be better able to make a good bar- 
gain with the shrewd buyers of the market-place. 
But what Andrew had seen of life in the town had 
set him thinking. He discovered that there was a 
great difference between precept and practice among 
the religious leaders of his neighbourhood, and the 
coarse modes of life among the merchants of the 
bazaars, the flaunting finery and soft luxury of the 
moneyed classes, heightened his disgust with things 
as they were. Occasionally he had gone back to 
the boat wondering why Jehovah tolerated it all, 
and sometimes he felt that it were a thousand pities 
that judgment did not fall on those who openly 
violated the Divine law, and who corrupted the very 
air with their abominable practices. If one of the 
old prophets were to come back, Amos, for exam- 
ple, what would he say? What fierce denunciations 
would he not pour out on those who were supposed 
to stand for righteousness, and who yet condoned 
iniquity ? 

As he spelled out the sacred Scriptures for him- 
self, or listened to the droning voice of the rabbi 
as they were expounded in the synagogue, Andrew 
caught himself wondering the more at the Divine 
indifference, and at the tardiness of Messiah’s com- 
ing. ‘The same thoughts were with him as he sat 
at the tiller, looking up at the stars that glimmered 
above the lake. He was glad to get away from 


16 The Master and the Twelve 


the pollution of the city and to feel the sweet night 
breeze on his cheek. He was thrilled by the sense 
of God’s presence out there on the moon-lit waters. 
But if only that Presence were realised by others, 
how different life would be for every one! 

One day when he had gone to the town, it seemed 
that his hopes were to be realised. A strange 
preacher had appeared from no one knew where, 
and yet there was something familiar about him. 
Andrew joined the group standing around, listening 
with amused faces, but he did not hear the gibes 
that were thrown at this man because of his strange 
garb and his unkempt appearance. Instead, he 
listened as one in a dream. Here was the very 
prophet he had so often pictured to himself—an- 
other Amos—whose words were like thongs cut- 
ting deeply into the bare flesh or burning the con- 
science like liquid fire. “Repent . . . the kingdom 
of heaven is at hand!” Slowly the preacher’s mean- 
ing penetrated the sailor’s soul, and as he returned 
home, he was convinced that here was one who felt 
as he felt, to whom the degradation of the profes- 
sedly devout was an offence to God as well as to 
man, and who made articulate the deep disgust that 
had for so long been striving for expression in his 
heart. ‘There was no sleep for Andrew that night. 
He seemed to hear, echoing. through the darkness, 
that strong voice, with its authoritative note and 
its clear conviction of the conscience. ‘‘Re- 
pentru) 

With the first opportunity, Andrew got into per- 
sonal touch with this man of the wilds, John the 
Baptist. Though he had to submit to a good deal 
of banter from his friends for his sudden interest 


Andrew, the Man of Lowly Loyalty 17 


in religion and not a little criticism from his family, 
he allied himself with the Baptist as an acknowl- 
edged disciple, that he might be further instructed 
concerning this great One whose way was thus 
being prepared, and that he might lend his loyal 
support to this movement towards a better order 
of things. He did not know it, but like the aged 
Simeon, he too was waiting for the Consolation of 
Israel, and he longed for that time when the Mes- 
siah would be manifested to the world. He had 
pondered deeply; now he waited impatiently for 
that day. Would it dawn with an angry flush in 
the sky like some days he recalled when the lake 
was later lashed into fury? Would it be heralded 
with muttering thunders and blinding lightnings? 
Would there be a great fanfare of trumpets as the 
avenging One rode through the land? Many a 
time he had plied John the Baptist with questions, 
and as often had he tried to satisfy the impatient 
Peter as to how long he was going to give such 
half-hearted help with the boats. But one day, the 
long anticipated event took place, and yet, like so 
many things for which we have waited with keen 
anticipation, it was not quite what was expected. 
He was walking along by Jordan with the Baptist 
and John, a fellow-enquirer from the lake. The 
conversation turned on the old ritual of sacrifice, 
when suddenly the prophet stopped. They felt the 
thrill of excitement that swept over him, and fol- 
lowing the direction of his outstretched hand, they 
heard him say, ‘“‘Behold—the Lamb of God!” 
Andrew was conscious of disappointment as he 
took in the meaning of the Baptist’s words. He 
had thought of the Messiah as one who would come 


18 The Master and the Twelve 


with glory befitting His high office, but instead, 
there was one clad just like the people of the coun- 
tryside. There was no halo about His head. 
There were no angelic attendants. He moved on 
with unhurrying pace through the crowds that were 
dispersing after listening to the preacher from the 
desert, and none seemed to notice Him. Was John 
mistaken? No; the answers he gave to Andrew's 
eager questions made it plain that there was no 
doubt in his mind regarding the identity of the 
Christ. But now Andrew was faced with another 
difficulty. This time it was not an intellectual one, 
but a personal one born of his loyal soul. How 
could he secure an immediate interview with this 
great Master without appearing to desert one to 
whom he owed so much? Had he been quicker of 
discernment, had he known John better, such a 
question would not have arisen for a moment. Yet 
he was only an untutored fisherman to whom what 
was unfair or disloyal was repugnant. He made 
some excuse, and relieved to find that his friend was 
just as anxious to get away, they set off together 
in search of the Christ. It was the first time they 
had felt the Baptist’s company uncongenial, the first 
time they had not been sorry when the time to leave 
his side had come. Now, it was different. It always 
is when Christ enters a man’s life. All lesser lights 
pale into insignificance when the sun appears in the 
radiant dawn, and in that Andrew is not to be re- 
garded as unusual. Yet as they set off, it is probable 
that Andrew had some misgiving. John the Baptist 
might understand why they had gone, but would 
Jesus understand why they had come? Would it not 
look like presumption for them to speak to Him? 


' Andrew, the Man of Lowly Loyalty 19 


Would He resent their apparent want of restraint, 
or their lack of loyalty to their teacher? They 
might have hesitated, as so many of us do, won- 
dering about Christ rather than turning to Him. 
But their faith was stronger than their fear, and 
not wishing to compromise Him by being seen talk- 
ing with friends of the ascetic reformer, or feeling 
that they could not talk with the intimacy and free- 
dom they desired while curious eyes were on them, 
they asked, “Teacher, where dwellest Thou?’ To 
their delight Christ invited them both to accom- 
pany Him, and that for them was the beginning of 
days! | 

It would be about four in the afternoon when 
they thus met, and though we do not know what 
was said at that memorable interview, we may be 
sure that time sped on with wing-tipped feet. As 
soon as they left Christ’s humble lodging, Andrew 
set off on another quest. He had tried several 
times to convince his clever brother that there was 
some truth in the Baptist’s message, though beyond 
awakening curiosity, he had not met with much 
success. Now he was in a position to prove his 
point, and he set off to find Peter and tell him the 
news. It could not wait until next day. As soon 
as they met, Andrew exclaimed, ‘“‘We have found 
hiemylesstznwe ye) the. Christan 

Peter would listen at first with incredulity, and 
then with genuine concern as his eyes, peering in- 
tently from beneath his bushy brows, scanned the 
eager and excited face before him. Frankly, he did 
not believe either in the Baptist or in the supposed 
fulfilment of ancient prophecies. He was too prac- 
tical-minded to be led off on these problematical pur- 


20 The Master and the Twelve 


suits, but he could not doubt the fact that Andrew 
was manifestly moved by what had happened. 
Could it be that his brother had lost his mental 
balance? Peter recalled how strangely Andrew had 
been acting for some time. More than once he had 
given sailing directions which had fallen on unheed- 
ing ears, and when he had spoken forcibly, Andrew 
had suddenly stirred like a man waking out of a 
dream. Besides, although Andrew had been a good 
enough fellow, he had never evinced any marked in- 
terest in religious questions until recent months. 
Then both his proneness to argue about them, and 
his anxiety to get ashore on every conceivable occa- 
sion showed a definite change. It was not that Peter 
was slow to put a direct question about his brother’s 
sanity; it was the uselessness of such a course. If 
he were mad, he would only affirm his sanity with 
greater vehemence. But while Peter resolved to 
watch his brother carefully, he decided to assent to 
the suggestion that the two should seek the Naza- 
rene at the first opportunity, and then he could 
judge for himself whether this were the Messiah 
or not. ‘That course was adopted the next day, 
we know with what results. But between Christ 
and the two brothers a bond of friendship was im- 
mediately forged, and while they did not commit 
themselves too deeply, it was evident that they were 
both inclined to be counted among His supporters. 


THe CALL oF ANDREW 


From that time, it appears that Jesus and His 
new friends met at intervals. Possibly our Lord 
was frequently away from the district as He pur- 


Andrew, the Man of Lowly Loyalty 21 


sued alone His early ministry in the towns and vil- 
lages of Galilee. But the day came when He saw 
the necessity of having some men under definite 
tuition so that they might not only aid Him by 
their companionship and co-operation, but also be 
fitted for carrying on His mission when His own 
life should end. We shall deal with the details of 
that call later, but suffice it to say, that, when the 
summons to service came, Andrew was as swift to 
leave the boats and .the comparative comfort of 
home as any of the others, and the reason is not 
far to seek. He had carefully thought over the 
events of past days. ‘The more he saw and heard 
of Jesus, the more convinced he was, in his some- 
what slow fashion, that this was indeed the Christ. 
So when the chance came of abandoning all for the 
sake of such a Master, he responded with alacrity. 
Now it is interesting to note that although he 
developed considerably as time went on, he was 
still Andrew, possessing neither the self-confidence 
of his brother nor the singular responsiveness of 
either James or John. He does not distinguish 
himself by any great confession of Christ’s deity, 
nor does his faith flash forth with the sudden light 
of some revealed truth. In fact, he seldom finds 
place in the story of those days. It is true that 
when Christ would feed the hungry multitudes, it 
was Andrew who called His attention to the boy 
with the loaves and fishes, but it would seem as 
though he did so with a measure of diffidence as 
though he said, ‘‘Of course, these cannot be of any 
use to Thee.”’ Or was it proof again of his loving 
loyalty to the Lord, knowing that nothing was im- 
possible to Him? In that later day, when the 


$9) The Master and the Twelve 


Greeks came to Philip with a request for a personal 
interview, the latter referred the matter to An- 
drew. But what was the reason? Why did not 
Philip go to one of the principal three? Surely, 
because he knew Andrew to be not only sympa- 
thetic towards such a request, but because he had 
always found him so-open-hearted and consistently 
kind. 

The call which took Andrew from the peaceful 
life of the lake lifted him to a fellowship in which 
the gracious and noble qualities of his nature found 
satisfaction. He had long thought of such a one as 
Jesus, who would set up the standard of life as 
God would have it, and who, while being the im- 
placable foe of meanness and deceit, would also 
sympathise with the aspirations of the heart. Deep 
called unto deep in his soul. But the lure of the 
heights was more potent still. 

Keble urges a like faith upon the Christian: 


“First seek thy Saviour out, and dwell 
Beneath the shadow of His roof, 
Till thou hast scann’d His features well, 
And known Him for the Christ by proof. ... 


“Then, potent with the spell of Heaven, 
Go, and thine erring brother gain, 
Entice him home to be forgiven, 
Till he, too, see his Saviour plain.” 


All this helps us to gauge 


THE CALIBRE OF ANDREW. 


If he were a man of such fine qualities, why was 
it that he never found place in the first three? It 


Andrew, the Man of Lowly Loyalty 23 


is unthinkable that Christ had favourites in the 
band of His disciples, and yet, when the Master 
entered that home which was shadowed by sorrow, 
where the little daughter of Jairus lay dead, we 
find Peter, James, and John, but no Andrew. 
When our Lord stood there on that wondrous 
Mount of Transfiguration, and the supernal glory 
which He had voluntarily laid aside for a time 
gleamed in His sacred face, and made even His 
raiment dazzlingly beautiful, exceeding the white- 
ness of the Alpine peaks when caressed by the sun, 
the same three were there, feasting their eyes on 
the spectacle, but there was no Andrew. When that 
tragic hour of agony had to be faced in the Garden, 
Christ took the three aside, feeling He could count 
on their prayerful sympathy while He communed 
with the great Father; but the others were left 
where the deep shadows lurked, and Andrew was 
with them. Only once do we find him included with 
his more distinguished friends. “The Master had ~ 
been foretelling the destruction of Jerusalem, and 
then the three with Andrew ventured to ask Him 
privately about this stupendous event, saying point- 
edly, “Tell us, when shall these things be?’ Why 
should he have been so consistently excluded from 
the inner circle? The question seems natural 
enouch to us. It may have presented itself to An- 
drew, but if it did, he gave no hint of it. “The fact 
is that while he was not one of the three, he made 
a splendid fourth. In that lies his greatest glory. 
He was a man of lowly loyalty. It was enough 
for him that Christ had considered him worthy of 
a place among the twelve chosen friends, and that 
for Andrew was honour enough. Perhaps he 


24 The Master and the Twelve 


realised what may have escaped us: There was a 
significance in the number chosen. The Twelve 
were to be the head of a new Iwelve Tribes, and 
to them would be committed judgment in the day 
of Messiah’s dominion, but just as the sons of 
Jacob had each his allotted territory and his own 
peculiar individuality, so each of the twelve Apos- 
tles had his personal part to play in the founding 
of the new Kingdom. 

This is full of suggestiveness. It is true that 
Andrew was not able to do what some of the others 
did, but it is also true that he could do what they 
could not. He must have changed out of all knowl- 
edge under the gracious example and influence of 
the Master, and yet he was still Andrew. His low- 
liness of mind and loyal love were his distinguish- 
ing traits. He was the first to find Christ, but he 
did not presume on that. While it was through 
him that Peter was brought to the Master, he did 
not claim pre-eminence or seniority. On the con- 
trary, because he was not among the three intimates 
of Christ, he yet proved that he could fill a subor- 
dinate position splendidly. He might have failed 
as first, yet as fourth he proved fine. We need not 
enter into the truth or otherwise of the various 
traditions that have gathered about Andrew’s sub- 
sequent activities. Eusebius affirmed that Andrew 
preached in Scythia, and that afterwards he was 
crucified by /Egeas, the pro-consul of Patre, being 
bound with thongs to the cross that his sufferings 
might be prolonged. Legend also has it that St. 
Regulus brought an arm of Andrew to Scotland, 
where he landed at the town which is now known 
as St. Andrew’s, and from which sprang the fact 





Andrew, the Man of Lowly Loyalty 25 


that the Saltire is the emblem of Scotland and St. 
Andrew her patron saint. Still, this needs to be 
said. The world can never repay its debt to those 
who, with fine devotion to the good, and with self- 
effacing service, have permanently blessed the race. 
Moses carried his gigantic task almost to comple- 
tion, but how many can recall without looking them 
up, the names of his father and mother who risked 
everything to save his life? Livingstone’s body 
rests among the honoured dead of Westminster 
Abbey, but his wife, to whom he owed so much, who 
was the inspiration of his life and who shared so 
many perils in the dark Continent, lies buried in the 
jungle. So it was with Andrew. He was content 
to use his limited powers for the Saviour’s sake, and 
in quiet loyalty to Christ’s cause to spend himself 
as opportunity came to him. What is the result? 
His influence, fragrant as a rose and yet as in- 
definable, abides to this hour. It enables us to see 
that even the man and woman of few talents, de- 
nied the chance of doing glorious deeds, may yet 
live a life that achieves true greatness, and in lowly 
loyalty to the Lord, can bless the world. It in- 
spires the feeblest with new strength. It nerves 
the heart for greater determination to do the good 
that may be possible, assured that in Christ’s eyes, 
the lowly soul is as a pearl of great price, and the 
sacrifice of the contrite in heart is acceptable in His 
sight. And a like call to discipleship comes to us. 
The author of There Is a Green Hill wrote: 


“As of old St. Andrew heard it 
By the Galilean Lake, 
Turned from home, and toil, and kindred, 
Leaving all for Thy dear sake.” 


26 The Master and the Twelve 


So we are summoned to the side of Christ. We 
may not be granted a place of eminence where the 
plaudits of the crowd will cheer our hearts. We 
may not be given a task that offers us the oppor- 
tunity we feel we deserve. But Christ wants us for 
what we are and what we may become under His 
gracious influence. ~ There are great and important 
duties assigned to the leaders of life and thought, 
but much depends on the calibre of their followers. 
Great strategists may plan the campaign, but it 1s 
the rank and file which fight the battles and win 
the victory. Peter, James, and John, were of indis- 
putable worth to Jesus Christ, but so was the less 
gifted Andrew, a man who never failed nor fal- 
tered, but whose life was lived in humble devotion 
to his Lord. 

We can do as much. Such service is not only re- 
quired by our Divine Master, but it is also within 
our scope, and though none may acclaim our deeds, 
they will not miss the Master’s commendation. 
It is not only the recorded achievements of life 
by which a man’s greatness may be reckoned, but 
the far-reaching effects of them and the influences 
he sets in operation. It was no small victory for 
Andrew to have overcome his brother’s reluctance 
to meet Christ for himself, but who could have 
foreseen the consequences of his patience and per- 
tinacity? Even though he may have cherished a 
great admiration for the stout-hearted Simon, and 
have been proud of the skill and resource which the 
sudden squalls of the lake tested many a time, An- 
drew could never have guessed that there were such 
sterling qualities lying inert in his brother’s soul as 
those afterwards manifested under the tuition of 





a a ro 


Andrew, the Man of Lowly Loyalty 27 


Christ. He could not foresee the great part Peter 
was to play as the leader of the Apostolic com- 
pany, and the heroic figure which dominated the 
early Church. Nay, when he brought his brother 
to Christ, he had no idea that his words of persua- 
sion or entreaty were to have such stupendous re- 
sults. “Che value of personal service for the indi- 
vidual is like the stone we fling into the sleeping 
waters of a pond. It sinks from view in a moment, 
but the circles widen and widen till at last the far- 
thest margin is reached. ‘Though the cause may 
seem inadequate, the effects are indisputable. When 
that godly woman, the wife of a merchant in Lon- 
don, spoke to one of her husband’s apprentices, and 
persuaded him to accompany her to church instead 
of spending the evening with his wild companions, 
she meant well. Yet she accomplished far more 
than she thought. The youth felt the Divine Pres- 
ence: ) tle heard’the call’ of Christ): He resolved 
later to devote himself to the cause of the Kingdom, 
and to that kindly woman, the world owes John 
Williams, the great missionary martyr of Erro- 
manga. 

When Henry Ward Beecher was at the height 
of his power, not only thrilling the congregations 
at the famous Plymouth Church, but making the 
soul of America tingle with his wonderful oratory, 
a man on whom heavy loads had been thrust en- 
tered the sanctuary. He had come with the ques- 
tion in his heart, “Is there any word from the 
Lord?” It is doubtful if Beecher knew he was 
present; he certainly did not anticipate his visit. 
But as the prophet poured out his soul in passionate 
pleading for the oppressed, as he showed the rights 


28 The Master and the Twelve 


of the whole human race secured by the sacrifice 
of Calvary, the man before him knew that his cry 
had been answered. ‘The word had come from the 
Lord and it was directed to him. Abraham Lincoln 
felt that, as surely as Moses heard the call from 
the burning bush, he had heard the Divine voice, 
and he went forth=that night to declare war on 
those who upheld slavery. While the conflict en- 
tailed also the question of the Union of the States, 
it had this deep moral significance, and through the 
dark days that followed until Lincoln signed the 
Treaty which set the slave for ever free, he was 
sustained by the vision he had seen and the voice 
he heard. Then he cried, ‘I promised my God I 
would do it, and I have done it!” It is another in- 
stance of the far-reaching effects of a word spoken 
in the cause of Christ, bringing another into line 
with His purpose. 

Thus if Andrew never achieved anything else in 
life, there is this to place to his undying credit, 
that he was the means of bringing such a great soul 
to Christ as Peter proved himself to be. And with 
what encouragement can we regard that one act! 
We cannot tell how our humblest service may be 
blessed. Some kindly word, some disinterested 
effort to aid another soul may mean untold good to 
the world. No loyal life is without its crown of 
laurel. No service rendered for Christ’s sake, even 
if denied its meed of praise now, shall fail of its 
reward. Long after the word is spoken, long after 
the deed is forgotten, their influences will be felt 
and their effects seen. It must have been some such 
thought that prompted Longfellow to sing: 





Andrew, the Man of Lowly Loyalty 29 


“T shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I know not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 


“T breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I know not where; 
For who has sight so keen and strong, 
That it can follow the flight of song? 


“Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend.” 


If further proof were needed we have but to 
recall that Richard Sibbes wrote a book entitled 
‘The Bruised Reed,” a copy of which was sold to 
a farmer. His son read it, and found the way to 
Christ. He was Richard Baxter, who eventually 
became the famous divine, and was then minister 
of New Court, of which the writer occupied the 
same honoured position. Baxter wrote, among 
other works, ‘‘A Call to the Unconverted,” which 
was read by a young man who was led through it 
to consecrate himself to Christ. ‘That was Philip 
Doddridge. He in turn wrote a book, ‘‘The Rise 
and Progress of Religion in the Soul,” and this was 
blessed to the conversion of William Wilberforce, 
the liberator of the slave. So link by link the 
golden chains which bind men in that glorious bon- 
dage to Christ which means fullest liberty, are 
forged, and the first of the apostolic company to 
discover the power of self-renouncing service for 
others was Andrew, the loyal-hearted. The love of 


30 The Master and the Twelve 


every disciple can find expression in this way, and 
the confidence that rings in Browning’s cheery lines 
shall continually nerve him to further effort for the 
sake of Christ. 


“There shall never be one lost good! What was shall live 
as before; 

The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound .. . 

On earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.” 





II 
JOHN, THE MAN OF INTUITIVE LOVE 


“This is the disciple which testifieth of 
these things.” 
—JOHN 21:24. 


eke are some things men never forget. 
Memory engraves them so deeply upon the 
tablets of the soul, that they remain as long as life 
lasts. John never forgot that first meeting with 
Jesus. Many a year afterwards, the details of that 
day stood out clearly in his mind, and as we read 
his record, we can see the Baptist and his two 
friends, the former bronzed with the glare of the 
sun and the unfettered winds of the desert, turning 
their eyes to the Lamb of God as He walked by 
Jordan’s banks. One of the two disciples of the 
Baptist was Andrew, but although the other was 
left unnamed, there can be no reasonable doubt as 
to his identity. ‘This is the disciple which testi- 
fieth of these things.” 

We know him as “the disciple whom Jesus 
loved,” the one who was privileged to recline the 
closest at the Paschal Feast, the one with whom our 
Lord seemed to have most in common. Yet in 
order to understand the man, we must look more 
closely at the portrait etched by the Synoptists and 
the lines added by John himself. As a general 


description we may call him the man of intuitive 
31 


32 The Master and the Twelve 


love, but there are many strange qualities in this 
great soul that only patient study can reveal. 


THE PRELIMINARY PERIOD 


of his life must be left largely to the imagination, 
but we can form a fairly accurate idea of those 
early years from what we know of him in later 
days. John, the son of Zebedee and Salome, lived 
in Bethsaida, the same town as Andrew, and like 
him, he was engaged in the fishing industry. He 
had a good position, for, from the records we ascer- 
tain that Zebedee had several employes, and prob- 
ably a modest fleet of fishing vessels. But John 
had a soul that soared. Though he never gave his 
father cause for complaint regarding his work, it 
is evident that he was one who was not only deeply 
spiritual in his way of looking at things, but also 
remarkably susceptible to religious influences. He 
was ruled more by his heart than his head in those 
early days, and when the Baptist appeared in the 
vale of Jordan, there was something in his pictur- 
esque appearance, with the unshorn head superbly 
erect, the bare, weather-tanned breast, and the 
rough garment of camel’s hair, that made an irre- 
sistible appeal to the youthful fisher. He had 
never seen any one so unconventional. He had 
never heard preaching so convincing. Here were 
the note of urgency, the air of reality that com- 
pelled attention. It was so different from the 
wearisome repetitions of religious truth he had 
heard in the synagogue. The Baptist was a man 
who said what he believed, and who believed what 
he said. And when John listened to that wonderful 








John, the Man of Intuiteve Love 33 


voice, in which the echoing sounds of the winds that 
rent the mountains, or the thunders that bellowed 
in the hills, could be heard, he was enthralled. Like 
all young people, there was a strain of the quixotic 
in his make-up, and when the prophet attacked an- 
cient iniquity and hurled defiance at the hoary head 
of hypocrisy, the youth was captivated. When 
John declared, without the slightest hesitation, that 
he was the forerunner of the great Messiah whose 
kingdom must soon be founded, he who had seen 
the men running before the carriage of some impor- 
tant government official, grasped at once the sig- 
nificance of the hour. Moreover, the fact that 
many reviled the wild prophet of the desert, that 
he was apparently alone in his mission, further ap- 
pealed to this impulsive heart, and having talked 
over things with his friend Andrew, the two became 
firm allies of the desert preacher. If any one had 
asked John why he had thrown in his lot with this 
strange figure, the probability is that he would have 
been unable to say. He felt that this was the right 
thing to do, and this was a man worth supporting. 
He was guided more by intuition than by logic, but 
then, the intuition of love is sometimes a surer guide 
in things of the soul than bare reason. 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


When he saw Jesus for the first time, there was 
a similar leaping forth of the heart in His direc- 
tion. Again, we affirm the chances are that John 
would not have been able to explain why he was 
so eager to leave the Baptist and to follow this 
new Master, but as the compass needle is drawn un- 


' 34 The Master and the Twelve 


mistakably to its pole, the soul of the young disciple 
was attracted by Jesus. He had been ready to 
hasten off on the instant, but his sensitive nature 
shrank from giving his master pain. Yet when he 
found that Andrew was similarly affected, he hesi- 
tated no longer. It was the parting of the ways, 
but he knew that he was being impelled to take the 
step which might mean severance for all time from 
John the Baptist, and which would possibly mean 
revolutionising his mode of life and thought. But 
he could not stay to debate the point. ‘The Baptist 
had plainly pointed out this Nazarene as the Lamb 
of God, and the soul of the youth was fired with 
desire to know Him personally. 

The two quickly overtook Christ, but in their 
haste, they had not considered how they were to 
address Him. It might not do to use John’s desig- 
nation; perhaps that was as yet a secret. So they 
blurted out their question, “‘Rabbi, where dwellest 
Thou?’ It must have seemed an unfitting title to 
give Him when they thought it over, but John was 
naturally one who acted first and considered things 
afterwards, and intuitively he felt that this term 
was at least non-committal, though it might not be 
entirely suitable. But in that Divine company, 
whatever misgivings he might have had were dis- 
persed as the mists before the rising sun. He does 
not tell us what passed, but at least his conversa- 
tion with Christ convinced him that again he had 
been right in following what he felt to be an im- 
pulse of God, and from that hour, Christ was for 
him the light of life. Nor was it all on John’s 
side. Christ was apparently just as impressed with 
the impulsive, enquiring youth, for at once between 


John, the Man of Intucteve Love 35 


the two there sprang up an intimacy that is beau- 
tiful to behold, and John became the disciple whom 
Jesus loved. Every possible opportunity of being 
with Jesus was eagerly seized by this ardent dis- 
ciple, and even when others were called to become 
followers of the new Teacher, it was evident that 
none understood Jesus better, or had a deeper sym- 
pathy with Him, than John, the son of Zebedee. 
They accompanied Him to the marriage in Cana, as 
His acknowledged friends, and possibly when they 
found that He was going to Jerusalem for the 
feast, they arranged to go together. 

Meanwhile, things had been going ill with the 
Baptist. He was imprisoned for his outspokenness, 
and then it would appear that our Lord decided on 
a more extensive mission, proclaiming the Kingdom. 
So the day came when John and some of the others 
were called to leave their secular toil, and become 
His companions in this great crusade. Thus John 
faced again the parting of the ways. In spite of 
the remonstrance of Zebedee and the counsel of his 
friends, John decided on this quixotic course. He 
could not argue the point. He did not know just 
why it was the right thing for him to give up his 
prospects, and abandon the business that his father 
had so laboriously built up in the hope that his 
sons would one day take the reins. All he knew 
was that Christ had called him, and his soul de- 
manded obedience to that imperative summons. In 
that he was like Henry Martyn. That gifted 
graduate of Cambridge had the world at his feet. 
He had completed a brilliant course, and before him 
lay a career of exceptional promise. There was 
literally nothing he could not do if he were dis- 


36 The Master and the Twelve 


posed to give his strength to its accomplishment, 
but out of the night of heathendom came a cry for 
succour; from Christ Himself came the call for 
service. Martyn knew that the Saviour needed 
him in India, and he resolved to go. His friends 
brought the weight of their influence to bear on 
him, for the quest-seemed absurd, but he was im- 
movable. His fiancée, hoping to succeed where they 
had failed, did all she could to dissuade him from 
the project, even pointing out that unless he altered 
his decision, the engagement must be terminated, 
but though he loved her deeply, he loved Christ 
and duty more. He seemed to say: 


“T hear a voice you cannot hear, 
Which says I must not stay; 
I see a hand you cannot see, 
Which beckons me away.” 


Thus it was with John. He might lose all things 
for Christ’s sake, but to him there was nothing com- 
parable to that sweet companionship, and he fol- 
lowed where love led. 


THE PERSONALITY THAT IMPELLED 


him to take this step was the Christ for whom the 
world had been waiting, though its longing had not 
been articulate. Yet there were some who had been 
trained to look for that day of Messiah’s coming 
with a feeling that then joy, which had so long been 
foreign to their national life, would return. An- 
drew was one of these. John was another. His 
passionate young soul was swayed by the prophecies 
of those Scriptures in which he had been nurtured. 


ee eS ee ee a = 


John, the Man of Intuzteve Love 37 


The ideal is proverbially the possession of youth. 
He had seen things as they were under Roman rule, 
and comparing the present with the past, he must 
have longed for those dashing days in which David 
led his men along the ways of adventurous daring 
towards freedom and life. He must have dreamed 
many a time of the stately majesty of Solomon, 
and wondered why the ancient glories had departed 
from the sceptre of Judah. But comparing the 
present with the future, all his dreams were sur- 
passed. The day was coming when God would re- 
deem Israel, when the power of the Eternal would 
be manifested, and the graphic pen pictures that 
the prophets had drawn depicting Emmanuel’s 
reign must have thrilled his very soul. Is it any 
wonder then that, when the Baptist confidently rec- 
ognised Christ as the fulfilment of the prophecy, 
this impressionable heart should have made imme- 
diate response? On the contrary, it would have 
been surprising had John remained unmoved. He 
had so long compared the actual with the ideal that 
when he met Christ, he saw the difference between 
the ideal and the actual. Here was one who filled 
his soul with ecstasy. The two friends had called 
Him, Rabbi, but the moment they entered into con- 
versation with Him, they knew that was no ade- 
quate designation. He spoke to them without a sug- 
gestion of patronage. He had no air of the supe- 
rior stooping to converse with them. ‘There was 
no semblance of pride, nor of that unctuousness that 
so often accompanied religion. Quite the reverse. 
He answered their questions as one who was glad 
to impart any information they sought, nor was 
there on their part any feeling of restraint in His 


38 The Master and the Twelve 


company. He had removed all that in His first 
word in which He evidently recognised them as 
seekers. And those first impressions were only 
deepened as time went on. John had verily found 
One whom he could trust to the fullest extent, and 
to whom his inmost soul answered. The matchless 
wisdom of Christ as teacher, the profound tender- 
ness that marked all His dealings with the forlorn 
and fettered souls of men, His wonderful works 
of mercy, were consistent with the Son of God, and 
though there were many things John could not un- 
derstand, he felt that at least he understood the 
Master. He might well have said as Carlyle did 
centuries later: 


“Look on our divinest Symbol: on Jesus of Nazareth, and 
His Life, and His Biography, and what followed therefrom. 
Higher has the human Thought not yet reached: this is 
Christianity and Christendom; a Symbol of quite perennial, 
infinite character; whose significance will ever demand to be 
anew inquired into, and anew made manifest.” 


John could not but love Him with all the passion 
of his intense nature, and what was better still, he 
felt that his love was returned. He had found the 
Captain of his soul. 

Yet if all this be true, there are some strange 
and disquieting facts in the Gospel story that seem 
inconsistent. Why did Jesus name John and his 
brother Boanerges, that is, Sons of Thunder, if he 
was such a gentle, loving soul? Why was it that 
John showed such intolerance and bigotry when he 
came upon another who was engaged in a similar 
work, reporting the incident with apparent pride— 
‘‘Master, we saw one casting out devils in Thy 


—————o eee em ee ee 


John, the Man of Intuzteve Love 39 


name, and he followed not us: and we forbade him 
because he followeth not us’? Why did he want 
to call down fire upon the churlish Samaritan vil- 
lage which denied its hospitality to Christ and His 
companions? Why did he and his brother come 
with that ambitious request, “Grant unto us that 
Wwe may sit, one on Thy right hand, and the other 
on Thy left hand, in Thy glory’? It is true that 
in Matthew’s account of the incident, Salome, their 
mother, preferred the request, emboldened by the 
family relationship which may have existed, for 
Salome is thought to be one of Mary’s sisters. Yet 
that does not absolve either John or James from 
complicity in the matter, for they supported the 
plea with their acquiescence. What is stranger 
still, it was this imperfect, vehement youth whom 
Christ loved. Why was it? 


IMPERFECTION Is No BARRIER TO PRIVILEGE 


Christ saw him as a disciple in process of de- 
velopment, a soul in the shaping. Were one seek- 
ing proof of the incomparable compassion of 
Christ, His belief in the worth of a human soul, 
one could find it here. The character of John was 
as yet immature. He did things that must have 
grieved the Master over and over again, and said 
things that must have struck a discordant note con- 
stantly, and yet Jesus loved him. He saw John, 
as He sees us, through the eyes of love. Love sees 
the end as well as the beginning. It sees the oak 
in the acorn, the bird in the egg, the angel impris- 
oned in ‘‘this muddy vesture of decay.” Referring 
to the forbidding of the exorcist, Dr. A. B. Bruce 


40 The Master and the Twelve 


says, “It may surprise some to find him, the apostle 
of love, consenting to so uncharitable a deed; but 
such surprise is founded on superficial views of his 
character, as well as on ignorance of the laws of 
spiritual growth. John is not now what he will be, 
_ but differs from his future self, as much as an or- 
ange in its second year differs from the same orange 
in its third final year of growth. ‘The fruit of the 
Spirit will ultimately ripen in this disciple into some- 
thing very sweet and beautiful; but meantime it is 
green, bitter, and fit only to set the teeth on edge. 
Devoted in mind, tender and intense in his attach- 
ment to Jesus, scrupulously conscientious in all his 
actions, he is even now; but he is also bigoted, in- 
tolerant, ambitious.” 

Christ looks on us not as we are, but as we may 
become when the work of grace is complete. That 
is why John was admitted not only to the inner 
circle of the three, but was given the premier place 
in Christ’s affections. He had been chosen for his 
spiritual sensitiveness. ‘That very impressionable- 
ness would be one of his greatest assets in later 
days. [hat vehemence, when the flame burned 
more brightly, would make him love the good with 
intense devotion, though he might hate evil with pas- 
sionate loathing. And that intuitiveness that led 
him to choose the highest and love the noblest 
would mark him as one of the greatest of the apos- 
tolic company. He was not the only man in whom 
hate and love, or the natural and the spiritual, were 
found in such striking contrast. It seems almost 
incredible that David, who could write that Twenty- 
third Psalm, could also be guilty of a sin so heinous 
as that which brought Uriah to his death and David 


a 


John, the Man of Intucteve Love 41 


himself to the polluting mire, and yet the Fifty- 
first Psalm reveals the depths to which he knew he 
had sunk. It is wonderful to see the change 
wrought in the pitiless, persecuting Saul, making 
him the tireless, triumphant missionary of that 
Cross whose Lord he had once reviled. But there 
is no limit to Christ’s saving grace, and to this 
we trace the change that came eventually over John. 
Christ loved him. Christ believed in him. That 
is why the Master chose John to be one of the 
three who should be closest to His side, who should 
enter the house where the ruler’s daughter lay 
wrapped in the slumber of death, who should stand 
with Him on the sacred Mount, who should share 
with Him the painful vigil of the Garden. ‘That 
is why John was permitted to be nearest to the 
Lord at the Last Supper, and why he was known 
to the others as ‘“‘that disciple whom Jesus loved.” 
But it must not be thought that there was any 
favouritism in this. The fact that the rest of the 
company apparently accepted John’s primacy with- 
out question helps us to get over that difficulty. 
There was a deep sympathy between Jesus and John 
that seemed perfectly natural. For one thing, it 
is possible that they were about the same age. Art 
almost invariably depicts the disciple of this time 
as a young man, possibly the youngest of the twelve, 
and that may have been one explanation of the bond 
that existed between Master and pupil. We have 
it recorded of the young ruler who came asking 
the way of life that “Christ looking on him, loved 
him.” Why, because he was rich? ‘That is not 
like Christ. Because he was a ruler? That can 
scarcely be the reason. Because he was young, and 


42 The Master and the Twelve 


had the optimism and enthusiasm of youth as his 
portion, because his life was unsullied and his days 
unspent? That is more likely. The fact is, Christ 
saw the boundless opportunities that youth affords 
to the man who will give himself to the sway of 
the spiritual, and while there was work for each 
of the twelve to do, while each had his own per- 
sonal contribution to make to the Master’s mission, 
John possessed possibly what the rest lacked—the 
inestimable gift of youth. When others of the com- 
pany would inevitably lay down their work, John 
would still be able to carry it on for some years 
longer. When their powers flagged, and their eyes 
grew dim, he would still possess the vision and 
enthusiasm necessary for the establishment of the 
Kingdom. So, imperfect though John was at this 
stage of his career, he was permitted privileges that 
were meant to fit him for fine service in the future. 

There is the other side of’ the mattersiyohn 
was permitted to enter that circle and to take that 
intimate place in the Saviour’s heart because not 
only had Christ chosen him, but he had chosen 
Christ. He might have spurned the proffered privi- 
leges. He might have resisted the gracious influ- 
ences that were wooing him from his intolerance, 
vehemence, and self-centred ambitions, just as an 
organism sometimes fails to adapt itself to its new 
environment or as the plant allows the passages 
that convey life to a given leaf to silt up so that 
it turns yellow and dies. Instead of that, like a 
diligent pupil, he learned by his mistakes. He 
profited by the opportunities that came his way. 
The work of grace, which is often so gradual and 
undiscerned, made the desert rejoice and blossom 





John, the Man of Intucteve Love 43 


as the rose. And his progress was the Master’s 
encouragement. 

The difference between Christ and ourselves is 
no more clearly seen than in the patience He dis- 
plays, and the impatience with which we regard our 
fellow men. We want results at once. We plant 
the sapling and would like to gather luscious fruit 
the same season. Yet when James wants to illus-’ 
trate the virtue of patience he says, ‘‘Behold, the 
husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the 
earth, and hath long patience for it.’’ That is the 
attitude Jesus manifested towards His friends. Yet 
we wish John had played a more valiant part. Se- 
cure in the fact that he had a friend in the High 
Priest’s Palace, he obtained permission for Peter to 
pass the guard and see what was happening, but he 
himself was not running any great risk in being 
there. He may not have remained long, or if he 
did, then he was careful not to be in any prominent 
position, for when Jesus turned and looked on Peter 
after that base denial, He did not see John. But 
at Calvary, the noble qualities of the disciple were 
seen. His affectionate heart went out to the 
stricken mother standing there by the Cross. At 
first, lurking on the fringe of the crowd, John had 
hesitated about going nearer, but the sight of a 
woman’s grief was too much for him, and he had 
joined the group, flinging his arm about that form 
quivering with sorrow, and with a surging tender- 
ness that brought words of comfort from secret 
springs in his soul, he had done what he could to 
sustain her in that terrible hour. In spite of His 
own sufferings, the incident had not gone unnoticed 
by Christ. ‘“When Jesus therefore saw His mother, 


44 The Master and the Twelve 


and the disciple standing by, whom He loved... . 
then saith He to the disciple, Behold thy mother! 
And from that hour, that disciple took her unto his 
own home.” (John 19:26.) 

That mark of confidence shown by Jesus may 
have been John’s salvation. Between the hour of 
the arrest and this time, he had been passing 
through a period of bitter humiliation and self- 
criticism. He had enjoyed privileges that had not 
been given to the rest, but how had he repaid his 
Lord? It did not matter to John that the others 
had deserted the Master when storm-clouds burst. 
His main concern was that he himself had been so 
faithless. Privileges carry corresponding responsi- 
bilities. He who had been so close to Christ had 
been furthest from Him in spirit and _ service. 
When in that searching hour in the Upper Room 
the Saviour had seen their reluctance to minister to 
one another, and had washed their feet, had John 
been any better than the rest? When He had 
asked the three to watch with Him in the darkness 
of Gethsemane, had he not slept just as his com- 
panions? When the Lord had been led off to 
Caiaphas, John had seen the gleaming garment of 
his Master in the midst of the soldiery, and yet he 
had let them go without raising a hand to support 
the Saviour’s cause. He had kept in the shadows, 
though his heart was prompting him to rush in and 
share the death these cruel callous leaders were 
demanding from Pilate, and when at last, he saw 
Jesus issuing from the Pretorium to face the howl- 
ing execrations of the mob, saw Him staggering un- 
der the weight of the Cross, and then falling on the 
cobbled stones of the way, John had felt he could 


John, the Man of Intuztive Love 45 


do no other than take his place beside his beloved 
Lord. But even while he hesitated, a swarthy 
stranger was pressed into the service of the sol- 
diery, and John’s chance had gone! Gone for ever! 
Why had he failed so shamefully? It was not that 
the others were no better than he, it was rather 
that he was a thousand times worse than they! 
Had not the Master said, ‘“To whom much is given, 
of him shall be much required”? How much had 
he received in the way of loving trust, patient in- 
struction, generous forgiveness! And he had re- 
quited it all with denial in deed if not in word. 

At least, though John had lost faith in himself, 
Christ still believed in him or He would not have 
given him that sacred trust in the tragic hour, and 
when he knew the Lord had risen again, for a time 
his heart surged with new hope of proving his love 
once more, only to be filled with greater remorse 
for the sorry part he had played. He was un- 
worthy of such a Master! He was undeserving of 
such divine pity! So when Peter and five others 
suggested going back to the lake, John decided 
to accompany them. But everything was against 
them. It could not be that they had lost their old 
efficiency in handling the nets; it must have been, 
that they were still outside the circle of duty. They 
toiled all night long, shifting their fishing ground 
and flinging the nets with their old-time skill, but 
it was useless. When day broke, they had taken 
nothing. They decided to return, and with the 
glimmering of the morning sun on the water, John’s 
intuitive soul rather than his discerning eyes recog- 
nised a figure awaiting them. But that was impos- 
sible! The command to throw out the nets again 


46 The Master and the Twelve 


now convinced the head of what the heart had been 
sure of before, and John whispered to Peter what 
he had known for long, “It is the Lord!” 


THE PuRSUIT OF THE DIVINE PURPOSE 


From that time, John knew how great was the 
forgiving love of his Lord. He hesitated no more. 
After the stirring events of Pentecost, we see him 
with Peter bringing health to the impotent man, 
and declaring with fine courage the faith that 
brought blessing and strength to his own life. 
When the two were arrested and brought before 
the Sanhedrin, there was no fear in their faces. 
Both had been forgiven much, and therefore both 
loved much. He journeyed later to Samaria to 
assist those who had come under the spell of 
the Gospel, and A.D. 50 he was again in Jerusa- 
lem. 

As may be easily understood, there is nothing 
in his own writings about his subsequent life. He 
was anxious above all things that his Master should 
have the pre-eminence, and we must depend on tra- 
dition regarding John’s later activities. But it is a 
well-grounded fact that he went to reside in 
Ephesus, for this city had become, under the 
preaching of Paul, the centre of Christian work at 
that time. Jerusalem was too full of opposition, 
while Rome was as yet unreached to any appre- 
ciable extent. Ephesus afforded opportunities of 
spreading the Kingdom, not only by means of its 
intercourse with the great cities of the Empire, but 
also because there were schools of learning which 
must be permeated with the leaven of the Christian 





John, the Man of Intuctive Love 47 


Evangel. Here we find the latent talent which 
Christ called forth being utilised to the full under 
the inspiration of the Divine Spirit. Although 
John’s authorship of the Fourth Gospel has been 
challenged, the consensus of opinion is now that this 
Gospel is of much earlier date than some critics 
have aflirmed, and it looks as though Lightfoot’s 
opinion were justified. He said, ‘‘We may look 
forward to the time when it will be held dis- 
creditable to the reputation of any critic of sobriety 
and judgment to assign to this Gospel any later 
date than the end of the first century or the begin- 
ning of the second.” 

When we read the marvellous Prologue, the won- 
derful fourteenth chapter, of which the devout 
heart never wearies and in which the most aged 
saint ever finds new comfort and help, we are en- 
thralled. Dr. John Watson used to say of the 
minister, “If he ask the sick what Scripture they 
desire, it is only a form, for there is one chapter 
that every man and woman wants to hear in great 
sorrow, or when the shadow is falling. ‘The leaf 
which contains the fourteenth of St. John’s Gospel 
should be made movable in our Bibles, in order 
that it might be replaced every ten years. By the 
time a man has got to middle age that leaf is thin- 
ning, and by old age it is only a brown film that is 
barely legible, and must be gently handled. Yet 
with every reading—say six times a week—the pas- 
tor notices that it yields some new revelation of 
the Divine Love and the Kingdom of Heaven. If 
one is sinking into unconsciousness, and you read, 
‘In my Father’s house are many mansions,’ he will 
come back and whisper ‘mansions,’ and he will wait 


48 The Master and the Twelve 


till you finish: ‘where I am, there ye may be also,’ 
before he dies in peace.’’ And though we cannot 
put it as beautifully as that gifted writer does, that 
is just what we believe about not only that chapter, 
but also the whole book. 

This much is plain, as Dr. Adeney points out 
with considerable cogency. The writer was a Jew, 
for he repeatedly quotes the Old Testament and 
explains several events as illustrative of statements 
made by the prophets, and he not only shows him- 
self familiar with the customs of his people, but 
also that he shares their Messianic hopes. He was 
a Palestinian Jew, for he proves his knowledge of 
the topography of the land, and carefully discrimi- 
nates between, for example, Bethany nigh unto 
Jerusalem, and Bethany beyond Jordan with details 
about Sychar, Ephraim, the Pavement and Gol- 
gotha. He was a contemporary Jew, for he not 
only understood the feeling of the people at that 
time, describing the current dislike of the Pharisees 
and Sadducees, but he was also an eye witness of 
the events of Christ’s ministry. He was one of the 
inner circle of the disciples. No other man known 
to us fulfils all the requirements of this careful 
description of the author of the Fourth Gospel, and 
comparing it with the records of the Synoptics, it is 
just the type of Gospel we would be led to expect 
from John as we know him, no longer vehement 
and impulsive, but subdued by the sense of his own 
privileges, his temporary failure, and the over- 
whelming love of his Lord. A careful study of the 
question in the light of modern scholarship confirms 
us in the opinion that John, the son of Zebedee, ‘‘is 
the disciple which testifieth these things.” 


John, the Man of Intuzteve Love 49 


When again we turn to the Revelation and read 
his glowing imagery and revel in his word-painting, 
when we hear the glorious music of the fifth chap- 
ter, or try to take in the superb scenes described in 
the nineteenth or the twenty-first chapter, we cannot 
but ask how is it possible for one who was described 
by men of his own day to be unlearned and igno- 
rant to write thus? Too much weight must not be 
given to that description. For one thing, it did not 
err on the side of generosity, and for another, any 
man who was not a graduate of one of the recog- 
nised schools of the rabbis was rated as unlearned. 
If the ploughman of Ayrshire could crave as he did: 


““Gie me ae spark o’ Nature’s fire! 
That’s a’ the learning I desire; 
Then though I trudge, through dub an’ mire 
At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, though hamely in attire, 
May touch the heart,” 


surely there is sufficient explanation of a man’s gifts 
when there is added the divine aid of the Holy 
Spirit. John was in touch with the teachings of 
Ephesus about the Logos. He had lived close to 
the bosom of Nature, and something of the varied 
music of her magnificent orchestra had entered his 
soul. Moreover, he had spent those years in fel- 
lowship with the greatest Teacher of the race. Is 
that not enough? Grace had wrought this won- 
drous change in the one-time Boanerges. 

There is a beautiful tradition for which we are 
indebted to Eusebius that John was interested in 
a young man who became a Christian, but who after- 
wards drifted back to his old ways. John made 


50 The Master and the Twelve 


enquiries about him, and found that he had joined 
a band of brigands. There seemed no way of 
reaching him till the Apostle formed the plan of 
allowing himself to be captured by this band, and 
when he found his convert, pleaded with him to 
abandon his evil course, and so won him back to 
Christ. 

John’s banishment to Patmos, that rock-strewn 
isle in the AXgean, where he was gladdened by the 
vision of his Master’s ultimate victory is mentioned 
by Tertullian who refers it to the persecution that 
broke out under one of the edicts of Domitian. It 
is probable that John was ultimately released under 
Nerva, and that he returned to Ephesus. There we 
have a description of him given by Jerome, carried 
in extreme age into the midst of his friends, and 
repeating constantly as only an old man would, 
“Little children, love one another.” His disciples 
asked him why he said this so often, and his reply 
was, “It is our Lord’s command, and if we fulfil 
this, we have fulfilled all things.” 

The development of this great soul is not only 
a striking example of what can happen to a man 
when he is brought under the influence of Jesus 
Christ, but it also proves that the world’s standard 
of values is sometimes wrong. It is something to 
achieve fame, to be able to acquire wealth and po- 
sition, or to shape the decrees of state, but it is an 
infinitely nobler thing to live in the love of Jesus 
Christ and to have imbibed something of His Spirit. 
John’s lasting greatness was not in what he did, not 
in what he wrote, but in this fact that he was the 
disciple whom Jesus loved and who might have 
said, with blind George Matheson: 


John, the Man of Intuzteve Love 


“O Love, that wilt not let me go, 
I rest my weary soul in Thee; 
I give Thee back the life I owe, 
That in Thine ocean depths its flow 
May richer, fuller be. 


“O: Cross that liftest up my head, 
I dare not ask to fly from thee; 
I lay in dust life’s glory dead, 
And from the ground there blossoms red 


Life that shall endless be.” 


51 


iil 
JAMES, THE INTREPID 


“He saw James, the son of Zebedee.” 
—MarK I: 19. 


W* would find the records aggravatingly inade- 
quate concerning the Twelve were it not for 
the fact that we remember they were meant to tell 
the story not of the Twelve but of their Master. 
Yet we cannot but feel that we should like to have 
more information than they afford us concerning 
James who was chosen by Jesus to be one of the 
inner circle of the Apostles. The Fourth Gospel 
does not name him at all, and even in the other 
three, the references are of the most meagre de- 
scription. Still from the scant material we may 
gather much. If Cuvier could reconstruct the prob- 
able size and shape of some extinct animal from a 
single bone, we can surely understand in part, at 
any rate, this man who was distinguished in the 
company of the Apostles as the most intrepid of 
the whole band. | 

The name which Jesus gave to James and his 
brother, calling them the Sons of Thunder, reveals 
much, for just as our Lord did not dull the palm 


. “With entertainment 
Of Ast new-hatch’d, unfledged comrade,” 


but carefully chose those who were to be entrusted 
with carrying on His work, so He did not give a 


name without its being some indication of the char- 
52 





James, the Intrepid bye. 


acter of the man who bore it. To be a Son of 
Thunder was surely not, as some ancient commen- 
tators have suggested, that James was a man pos- 
sessing tremendous powers of oratory, but rather 
that he was, as we have already described him, one 
of fiery and intrepid spirit, willing to take the lead 
in some perilous pursuit, and brooking no counsels 
that would restrain his ardour when once embarked 
on a course he felt to be right. 

From the details available, we know him to be 
the elder brother of John, and the son of Zebedee 
and Salome. He, like his brother, was engaged in 
the fishing industry of Galilee, and it is evident 
that the family enjoyed considerable prosperity. 
But while John was also given the same designa- 
tion, it would seem that though possessing the same 
intense nature, James had an individuality all his 
own. John had become a follower of the Baptist, 
but James seems to have held aloof, though he must 
have had a good reason for doing so. What was 
it? When his younger brother became so greatly 
interested in the message and mission of the Bap- 
tist, it must have caused some concern to James, 
for the two were not only partners in the father’s 
business, but, from what we see of them later, were 
often found in each other’s company, and sharing 
the same pursuits. Why then was it that James _ 
did not ally himself with John the Baptist? It 
must surely have been that he, the man of action, 
felt that the hour had not yet come. He was inter- 
ested in the supposed imminence of the Messiah’s 
coming. He was too much of a Jew not to be so. 
But then, days passed into weeks, and while it was 
true that the preaching of this great soul was mak- 


54 The Master and the Twelve 


ing a profound impression on the populace, James 
saw no indication that his words were likely to be 
fulfilled. Had he done so, one so intense would 
have flung in his lot with the new party of reform- 
ers without hesitation. When that day came, he 
would be ready, but meanwhile, there was work to 
be done, the business to carry on, and with the in- 
dulgence of an elder brother, he did not question 
the choice John had made, nor did he remonstrate 
with him about his frequent absences with the 
preacher. 

As has been the case many a time, the hour 
brought the man. When Jesus saw James at work 
that day by the lake, and called to him, and when 
James saw that his two friends Andrew and Peter 
were in His company, he knew the time for action 
had come. He did not question the call. He was 
not the man to waste words in asking for reasons. 
He immediately responded, and figuratively, but 
none the less actually, like Caesar when he crossed 
the Rubicon, James burned his boats behind him. 
The old craft had its appeal, and he valued the 
comparative certainty of the livelihood which the 
lake presented, but with that insistent call in his 
ears he had to take up the challenge, whatever it 
might mean, and dare the consequences. ‘That re- 
veals his character. Perhaps James did not know 
himself to be quite like that, but later events prove 
that it was a reliable indication of the real self. He 
was the man of fearless intrepidity, and instant 
action. Although he had been called to the fellow- 
ship of the Apostles, and though he is frequently 
named with the other two who were Christ’s clos- 
est friends, James’s strong point was not team- 


James, the Intrepid 55 


work. He was more inclined by nature to take the 
initiative. While John was also a man of fine feel- 
ing, it expressed itself in his case rather in deep 
emotion and in spiritual susceptibility. In James, 
it flamed out in action, making him take risks that 
others would hesitate to face, and impelling him to 
stand alone rather than wait for reinforcements if 
attacked by his opponents. He was the kind of 
man who might have cried with the redoubtable 
Henry at Agincourt: 


“Once more, into the breach, dear friends, once more . 
In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility: 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger; 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood... 
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot: 
Follow your spirit.” 


But if those with him had been craven-hearted, or 
thought the sacrifice unavailing, he would have 
taken his place alone and died heroically. He was 
like Horatius, hearing the news that Lars Porsena 
was about to attack the city: 


“Then out spake brave Horatius, 
The Captain of the Gate: 
“To every man upon this earth 
Death cometh soon or late. 
And how can man die better 
Than facing fearful odds, 
For the ashes of his fathers, 
And the temples of his Gods?’ 


56 The Master and the Twelve 


“Tn yon strait path a thousand 
May well be stopped by three, 
Now who will stand on either hand 
And keep the bridge with me?’ ”’ 


Horatius inspired two others with his own valour 
and fearlessness, but would he have attempted to 
hold the bridge alone? James would have done 
so, though he might know full well that the attempt 
would prove futile. He was of that stamp: intrepid 
in the highest degree. It will therefore be seen that 
such an element in the company of the Twelve must 
prove of the first importance when the fires of hate 
and the might of opposition were later to be faced. 
Was this why Jesus chose him? Was this one rea- 
son why he was admitted to the inner circle? 


James Was JEALous oF His MAsTER’s SAFETY 


The well-known instances of Christ having the 
three with Him throw some further light on the 
character of James. The first was when Jairus sent 
his request that the Master would come to his house 
and bring back the sunny smile of his stricken child. 
The Master responded at once, taking with Him 
Peter, James, and John. He knew why He wanted 
them with Him. Probably it was that they might 
be witnesses of His power to give life to the dead, 
and to make any question as to His methods super- 
fluous. But did the three disciples know why He 
wanted them? Did James know? ‘There was a 
reason, but it does not follow that James under- 
stood why they had been specially selected to ac- 
company Christ. He may have scented some trap 


James, the Intrepid $7 


in the request itself. Jairus was a ruler of the 
Synagogue, and was doubtless a man of unsullied 
honour, but had not John told his brother how the 
rulers had already challenged the authority of the 
Baptist? And had not there been some evidence 
already that Jesus was not being well received by 
the leaders of religion? With the suspicion that 
the seafarer often cherishes regarding the city 
dweller, James was probably not very sure about 
this appeal, and when Jesus asked three whom He 
knew He could trust to accompany Him into the 
house, James’s suspicions were confirmed. Perhaps 
even the Master did not feel quite sure about mat- 
ters? And though it would create hostility for 
twelve to insist on going in, no one could reasonably 
object to three. James looked at the burly figure 
of Peter, and the lithe form of John with conf- 
dence. If things came to the worst, these could be 
relied on to give a good account of themselves. 

James, the intrepid, still only dimly comprehend- 
ing his Lord, may have had similar feelings when 
he found the three separated again for that ascent 
of the Mount. He did not care much for Christ’s 
suggestion of going up to these unfrequented 
heights. On the sea he was at home, and he scarcely 
knew what fear was, even when the lake was 
swept by its occasional storms, but with the super- 
stition of the sailor, he looked on the hills as places 
where spirits made their abode. Anything might 
happen up there, far from the dwellings of men, 
but again he felt reassured by the fact that there 
were three who loved the Master with daily in- 
creasing affection, and nothing should befall Him 
if they could help it. 


58 The Master and the Twelve 


When that later instance occurred, and Christ 
asked them to go with Him apart to the secluded 
spot in the Garden, in James’s mind there could be 
no doubt regarding the request. ‘here had been 
talk of black treachery in the company of the Apos- 
tles. He knew now that the Jews would stoop to 
anything and stop at nothing to slay the Christ, but 
it was unbelievable that one of the Twelve would 
play the part of traitor. Yet had not Christ said 
it Himself: ‘One of you shall betray Me”? They 
had been in doubt for the moment whom Jesus 
meant and James felt it keenly. It could not be his 
own brother! And Peter was surely above suspi- 
cion! Then to his dismay, as well as to his pro- 
found astonishment, the word had been whispered 
from one to another, and the name of Judas showed 
who was capable of that black-hearted deed. It is 
true that the Master had appeared to accept this 
as inevitable, and seemed reconciled to His death. 
In fact, He had spoken of it before, though the dis- 
ciples had not quite understood Him, but this was 
not to say that they would allow Him to be taken 
from them without an effort, and James felt that 
come what might, the three would do their utmost 
to preserve One whom they now felt to be dear as 
life itself. He was jealous for the safety of his 
Lord. And yet, to his shame afterwards he had to 
confess that he had been overcome by the heavy- 
scented air of the spring night, and it was only 
when it was too late, when that foul fellow had 
kissed the Master, and He was taken off under their 
very eyes, that James realised the extent of their 
faithlessness in that hour of vigil. 


James, the Intrepid 59 


We may see still further confirmation of our 
opinion of him when we recall that 


James WAs JEALOuS oF His MASTER’s HONOUR. 


That day when the Apostles had been so sorely 
disappointed by the Samaritans was never forgotten 
by James. They had been trudging all day along 
the rutty tracks that did service for roads in those 
parts. The sun had been beating on their heads, 
and the dust had filled eyes and nostrils as they 
walked. ‘True, some of the band did not feel it as 
much as others, but those who had been accustomed 
to the open sea, with its cooling breezes and the 
comparative ease of travel, were weary of it all. 
We can imagine that, with the exception of Jesus 
Himself, they were all far from amiable. But at 
last, they came to the village to which they had 
been looking with longing eyes. Jesus was not un- 
known in Samaria, and there was little doubt that 
they would here be able to obtain food and rest 
for the night. Such people, in spite of any preju- 
dice they might have cherished against the Jews, 
would be only too glad to show honour to One 
whose fame had travelled far. To their intense 
disappointment, the request for hospitality was not 
only refused in churlish fashion, but it was evident 
from the scowling faces before them, that the 
Apostles could not hope that any argument they 
might offer would meet with success. They were 
footsore. They were hungry. They were angry 
not so much that they had to turn their faces again 
to the road, but that such an affront should have 


60 The Master and the Twelve 


been shown to the Master. James felt it more 
keenly, possibly, than John, and we can easily un- 
derstand his kindling his brother’s indignation and 
securing his support in the protest he made to 
Christ, “Lord, wilt Thou that we command fire to 
come down from heaven, and consume them?” 

At first sight, this reveals an unpleasant trait in 
James, and yet we admire his fine sense of what 
was fitting to his Master. It was not so much that 
he was weary of the journey and therefore out of 
humour with everything. It was rather that he felt 
such ungenerous conduct towards One who had 
never spared Himself in the service of men ought 
to be punished, and before we condemn James 
ought we not first to ask which is the better thing: 
to be thus jealous of Christ’s honour, or to concern 
ourselves so little about it that we scarcely notice 
the studied discourtesy with which He is treated 
by the modern world? It were a mistake to sup- 
pose that Christ could sanction the suggestion made 
by His passionate followers, but it would be a great 
thing if to-day there were more of us as willing 
to see that He were given the place which is His 
by right. 

Unfortunately, this trait in James’s character, 
making him jealous of Christ’s honour, sometimes 
made him err in another direction. 


James Was Jeatous or His Own Honour 


The Apostles had been in Cesarea Philippi when 
Jesus had questioned them about the opinion people 
were expressing about His work. The Master had 
then addressed the query to them, and Peter with 


James, the Intrepid 61 


fine conviction which awakens our admiration, had 
exclaimed, ‘“Thou art the Christ, the Son of the 
living God.” Yet incredible though it might seem, 
out of that incident probably sprang further cause 
of heart-burning among the Apostles. One imagines 
that James, while he agreed entirely with what 
Peter said, and may possibly have admitted that 
Peter had not only expressed what they were all 
thinking, but had also done so better than any of 
the others could, was aggrieved. What right had 
Peter to speak for the whole company? It was 
not the first time he had assumed the premier place, 
and James disliked his presumption. If any one 
had the right, surely Andrew who had introduced 
Peter to the Lord ought to have had it. Or what 
of John? He too had been a disciple of the Bap- 
tist and had been with Christ in His lodging before 
ever Peter had spoken to Him. James was not 
going to stand by and see quieter men brushed aside 
by the blustering, outspoken Peter, and as we have 
often found to our own sorrow, pondering over a 
slight, fancied or real, does not make for either 
peace of mind or a feeling of forgiveness. Possibly 
James did not sleep that night, worrying over his 
wrongs, and at the first opportunity, he talked over 
the matter with John. 


THE Crisis STIRRED AMBITIONS 


Peter had no claim to such a position. Others 
came before him, and if he were counting on the 
fact that he had made sacrifices for Christ’s sake, 
was he the only one? James and John had given 
up their boats just as he had, and what is more, 


62 The Master and the Twelve 


as the records indicate, they gave up their parents 
and their home, to say nothing of a more flourish- 
ing business. Besides, they had connections which 
Peter could not boast. They not only had friends 
in the house of the High Priest, but their mother 
was also Mary’s sister and so they were cousins of 
Christ. Their mother? This gave them an idea. 
They would see what she thought of the matter. 
The consequence was that Salome came with that 
ambitious request that not only made the two very 
unpopular with their brethren, but has also made 
them less worthy of our esteem. They wanted the 
crown, but Christ pointed out that before the 
crown comes the cross. Socially and financially 
they might eclipse Peter, but that was not the way 
in which pre-eminence was accorded in the King- 
dom. “Ye know not what ye ask. Are ye able to 
drink of the cup that I shall drink of, and to be 
baptised with the baptism that I am baptised with? 
They say unto Him, We are able.” 

This is just the answer we might have expected 
from James. It was as Emerson has said: 


“So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 
So near is God to man, 
When duty whispers low, Thou must! 
The youth replies, I can.” 


It was no empty boast, as subsequent events proved, 
and the intrepid James showed his mettle before 
many years had passed. But it is disquieting to find 
such ambitions among the chosen Twelve, and espe- 
cially in the inner circle of the company. Why had 
Christ called such men? The answer lies here: the 


James, the Intrepid 63 


Master had selected them not for what they were, 
but rather for what they might yet become. 
Uncontrolled and undisciplined they cut a sorry 
figure when they made this presumptuous request, 
for they revealed the very qualities of self-seeking 
which they had condemned in Peter. Yet in the 
fact that they were so aspiring is surely material 
for the Master to work upon. They were like un- 
broken colts, full of spirit and energy, and yet full 
too of possibilities. They desired much for them- 
selves, but the fact that they sought sovereignty 
rather than servitude was to their credit. Christ 
can do much with the soul that is dissatisfied with 
its status and itself, and when aspirations urge it 
onward, there is the chance of diverting them into 
worthy channels. It is the lukewarm, the self- 
satisfied, the apathetic who present the greatest 
obstacles in the way of development. Dr. Kelman 
puts it, ‘“The Christian feels the stirring of a new 
€reature, in his) heart... ...,We) are (daily being 
created—as yet we are but in the making.” 
Things in the making rarely appear beautiful, 
though the process may be interesting enough. 
That soft spongy mass of shapeless clay on the 
wheel does not look alluring to the eye, nor does it 
present much in the way of possibility to the un- 
initiated. But when once the wheel has been set 
revolving, and the hand of the potter is brought 
into play, then we see a wonderful change taking 
place. The shapeless takes on form and symmetry, 
and by and by, after the work of the wheel is com- 
plete, and when the fire has finished its share in 
the undertaking, there may emerge a vessel fit for 
the board of aking. It is only the soul of the artist 


64 The Master and the Twelve 


within the potter which can see what the clay can 
become. A piece of steel in process of forging may 
be hard and unyielding, but when the craftsman has 
finished with it, when it has been heated and chilled 
again and again, it may yet be a Toledo blade, 
strong, supple, and sharp. 

So we see the soul of James in process of shap- 
ing. It is a long and laborious task, demanding 
faith and patience that only Christ possesses, but 
when He has finished what He commenced, it will 
be with satisfaction and pride that we shall behold 
what grace can accomplish. 

Unbridled ambition is a snare against which we 
cannot be too careful. Sovereignty comes only by 
subduing. The cross is the way to the amaranthine 
crown. Belshazzar was ambitious to take his fa- 
ther’s sceptre, and must many a time have secretly 
hoped that in one of Nebuchadnezzar’s military 
exploits, the king would meet his match. That is 
the reason why, when eventually the old monarch 
died, the young ruler made such havoc of his 
chances. His riotous and wanton display was sud- 
denly cut short by the writing on the wall, and be- 
cause he had not first learned to rule himself, his 
sovereignty was snatched from him. Alexander 
might prove invincible against the massed forces 
of his foes but he went down before his own foolish 
enslavement by the wine cup. And Napoleon, who 
could declare that even the barrier of the Alps 
should be as though it were not, who sent his bat- 
talions thundering on their way with irresistible 
tread, at last fell victim to his own unquenchable 
desire to accomplish the impossible. It is thus with 
many a man who seeks great things only for him- 


James, the Intrepid 65 


self, and has not first learned that God must have 
prior claim on all he can do. Having learned that 
lesson, there is the chance of real greatness. It was 
thus that James came to the crown though he found 
the means of reaching it very difficult. 

The days that followed Salome’s interview with 
the Master were trying. It may be further evi- 
dence of James’s independence and fearlessness that 
the request had not been made in private, for we 
read that ‘“‘when the ten heard it, they were moved 
with indignation against the two brethren.” ‘The 
plan had miscarried, but that did not make either 
James or John very popular, and if human nature 
be the same all the world over, we can form a good 
idea of the coldness with which they would be 
treated by the others. Jesus must have noticed it, 
for one of those sublime explanations that serve 
to remove misconception, and to put a man on the 
right path in pursuit of his legitimate ambitions, 
Was given to them. After showing how princes 
seek to exercise dominion, our Lord said, “But it 
shall not be so among you: but whosoever will be 
great among you, let him be your minister.’”’ The 
counsel was not wasted. James began to see that 
Peter’s presumption was not one whit worse than 
his own, and that if he were to be worthy of the 
Master who, without the biting reproof his con- 
duct had merited, had so fully believed in him, he 
must pay heed to that word. James began to 
realise that subjection to Christ was the secret of 
true sovereignty. If he would be master, then he 
must first be mastered. In that there is again a 
remarkable resemblance between him and Henry V 
to whom we have already referred. When Henry 


66 The Master and the Twelve 


was only a youth, he caused great anxiety to his 
father because of his wild ways and his riotous com- 
panions. Remonstrance failed entirely to move 
him from his evil course, and prohibitions were 
equally ineffective. But when his father died, 
Henry was filled with remorse. He shut himself 
away from his friends, and in deep contrition re- 
solved that he would strive to be worthy of his 
father’s example and would henceforth seek the 
noblest paths. After his death he was buried in 
Westminster Abbey, and the old chronicles give 
him this title to true nobility, “Hostium victor et 
sui,’—-Conqueror of his enemies and of himself. 
If James had made enemies among the Twelve, 
he set about overcoming them by first conquering 
his own baser desires and turning his back upon 
that self-aggrandisement that had brought him so 
low in his own esteem as well as theirs. John 
Henry Newman writes truly: “It is strange to say 
but it is a truth which our own observation and 
experience will confirm, that where a man discerns 
in himself most sin, and humbles himself most; 
when his comeliness seems to vanish away and all 
his graces to wither; when he feels disgust at him- 
self, and revolts at the thoughts of himself—seems 
to himself all dust and ashes, all foulness and 
odiousness; it is then that he is really rising in the 
kingdom of God.’ The change was gradual. 
James had fallen far below his privileges, and 
though the gracious Master did not allow the inci- 
dent to make any difference in His attitude to the 
pair, James, at any rate, could not put it from him. 
He was determined to win back the self-esteem he 
had forfeited by his own folly. It is, however, 





James, the Intreped 67 


one thing to descend, and another to climb. The 
days that followed the crucifixion reveal a chastened 
and subdued disciple, without any of the dash and 
daring he had manifested earlier in his career. He 
had not played a valiant part in the Garden, as we 
saw. Possibly, his saddening experience was the 
explanation of that lack of the old intrepid spirit. 
He did not distinguish himself even after he knew 
his Lord had risen from the grave. He joined the 
other six who went back to the fishing at Peter’s 
suggestion. But after the brief hour in which 
Christ renewed His hold on their troubled hearts, 
James began to take courage. ‘To quote Newman 
again, “The way to mount up is to go down... . 
Do you desire to be great? Make yourself little. 
There is a mysterious connection between real ad- 
vancement and self-abasement. The more we abase 
ourselves, the more like we are to our Lord Him- 
self, and the more like to Him, the greater must 
be our power with Him.” 


THE Cross SUBDUED AND YET STIMULATED 
THE SOUL 


James is found with the Eleven as they re- 
assembled in the Upper Room. ‘The counsel would 
probably be one of discretion as the better part of 
valour, but we can well believe that a newer and 
better James had emerged. ‘There was little to 
choose between any of the company at the Cross, 
but now James would show his worth to the whole 
band. Courage seemed to blaze the brighter now 
that the skies were dark, and while they must per- 
force wait, as their Lord had commanded them, 


68 The Master and the Twelve 


till the Spirit came, this ardent soul chafed against 
inactivity, and longed for an opportunity to prove 
his genuine desire to do something for his Master. 
A new member of the company was added to make 
up for the defection of Judas, but still there was 
nothing James could do. Nothing? In those days 
of quiet meditation and prayer, new resolves were 
shaping themselves in many a heart. It was lke 
the vigil of the Middle Ages in which a young noble 
had to spend the whole night in silent prayer before 
the altar of God ere he was girded with the sword 
of full knighthood, and where his ideals were 
clearly defined, and his resolves had time to crys- 
tallise. 

When the day of Pentecost came, though there 
is no express mention of the part James played, we 
may be sure that he was one of the first to suggest 
that they should obey the Divine impulse, and de- 
clare fearlessly what Christ had done for them. 
Peter was the admitted spokesman, but who more 
likely than James, after his experience of Christ’s 
restoring grace, to suggest that Peter should take 
this position? For while James had once proved 
himself a Son of Thunder, he was now striving 
to be a Son of the Highest. He was completely 
changed. Like a mountain torrent that foams and 
_ leaps among the boulders, making the pebbles of its 
shallow bed chatter with fear at its impetuous 
haste, yet becoming steadier and stronger as it 
deepens in the valley, till, before it reaches the sea, 
it takes the ocean-going vessel on its bosom, the 
river of James’s devotion had become a greater 
and nobler thing. He was still the fearless one, 
but it was the calm courage of one who knew that 


James, the Intrepid 69 


he must not boast himself of his daring, nor pre- 
sume on his own unaided efforts lest he fall into 
sin. He is master of himself, because Christ has 
now mastered his soul. 

The records are silent regarding him until he re- 
appears for in instant in Acts 12. Herod Agrippa, 
the grandson of Herod the Great, had assumed 
power in Palestine, and with the twofold object of 
increasing his popularity with the Jewish leaders 
and making his position secure, he instituted a per- 
secution of the Christian church. The highest 
structures attract the lightning, and it is a striking 
testimony to the place James filled that it was he 
and not Peter who was first arrested as the ring- 
leader of the Nazarenes. He was led out for exe- 
cution, and Eusebius has preserved a tradition that 
the man who denounced James was so greatly im- 
pressed by his Christian courage and restraint, that, 
filled with remorse, he begged for baptism, and was 
admitted to the fellowship of the believers. He 
also was condemned to die at the same time as the 
Apostle. On the way he implored James to pardon 
the wrong he had done, and without hesitation 
James kissed his cheek, saying ‘‘Pax vobis’’—Peace 
be unto thee! 

Surely James thus proved himself worthy of a 
place in the chosen company and of ranking with 
those called to the inner circle. He had sought the 
throne without treading the way of thorns, but 
Christ had shown him life’s noblest example, and 
revealing the path to power, his higher nature 
thawed into glorious freedom under the genial rays 
of the Divine love, showed this intrepid soul to be 
an invaluable asset to the Apostolic company and 


70 The Master and the Twelve 
to the whole Christian Church. He had discoy- 


ered as Henry Drummond so beautifully says: 
‘“‘Tfeaven lies within, in kindness, in humbleness, in 
unselfishness, in faith, in love, in service. To get 
these in, get Christ in.’ When he sought his own 
advancement, there was retrogression. When he 
came to seek the glory of his Lord, we see steady 
progress along the path of right, and up the steep 
ascent that leads to the heights. 

We cannot look at this strong, virile soul with- 
out feeling impelled to emulate his example. His 
manifest imperfections, far from rendering him an 
unsafe guide in our quest of the life which is life 
indeed, may, on the one hand, prove of inestimable 
service to us, showing plainly the difference between 
the natural and the spiritual, the false and the true; 
and on the other hand, they are full of encourage- 
ment to the aspiring soul. It is of inestimable com- 
fort to those who have long striven to serve Christ, 
and who are conscious of their limitations and lack 
of likeness to Him, to see one who, though imper- 
fect, did not exhaust the Divine patience. Christ 
called James with all his unlovable traits and his 
unlovely moods, not because of them, but because 
there was something of worth in that unshaped 
soul that Christ saw to be of value to Him and to 
the world. He calls us in the same way and for 
the same high ends. It is not blameworthy to be 
conscious of unworthiness; it is blameworthy in the 
highest degree to be content with ourselves as we 
are, and to be without ambition to be better. It is 
not our fault if, comparing ourselves with the per- 
fect life of our Lord we find ourselves to be far be- 
neath the plane on which we ought to live; but it 


SS ee 


James, the Intrepid val 


is our fault if, knowing that, we do not strive to 
be other than we are. 

Salvation is co-operation with Christ. He cannot 
save us in spite of ourselves, any more than we can 
reach perfection without His gracious assistance. 
But when the soul sees itself, as James saw himself, 
to be capable of better things than merely grovelling 
amid the dust of earthly pursuits, and is willing to 
choose the higher, Christ can have His way with us. 
When we hear the call, as James heard it, that is the 
commencement of the course that leads not to the 
supremacy that comes through self-seeking, but to 
that power born of seeking first the kingdom of 
God. Longfellow sings: 


“From all vain pomps and shows, 
From the pride that overflows, 
And the false conceits of men, 
From all the narrow rules, 
And subtleties of schools, 

Poor sad Humanity 

Through all the dust and heat 
Turns back with bleeding feet 
By the weary road it came, 
And finds the simple thought 
By the Great Master taught, 
And that remaineth still: 

Not he that repeateth the Name, 
But he that doeth the will.” 


The call of Christ comes in different ways. He 
meets us in different places, but over and over again 
the Master has come to the place of common service, 
and there has found some of His most faithful fol- 
lowers. The daily round is well-fitted to bring out 


Fie The Master and the Twelve 


those natural qualities that help to make character 
sublime, and the comparatively insignificant tasks 
that James had been called upon to discharge were 
preparing him for the larger work Christ had for 
him to do. And yet, although our sphere may be 
different from his, the same thing is true of us. We 
have been set in the midst of life, where many val- 
uable lessons have to be learned and where fine work 
can be done, but all the gifts we possess as the result 
of natural endowment, all the development of them 
that has taken place prior to the call, are meant to 
be but preparatory to the work of discipleship that 
Christ has for us to do. He made these fishers into 
fishers of men. Precisely! And that is just what 
occurs in the experience of every true, responsive 
soul. Christ takes us where He finds us, doing what 
duty demands, but it is that He may pour into the 
commonplace, the sublimity of the new significance 
with which He invests life. The place can never be 
the same once Christ has visited it. Life can never 
be the same after He has touched it into new beauty. 
And though we may not be permitted to leave that 
task, which seems meaningless and unheroic, He 
enables us to bear witness to the truth by the tenor 
and spirit of our life. 

This also needs to be said: by the call to disciple- 
ship, Christ not only calls us. to His service, but He 
also summons the latent powers of heart and mind 
to enrich all we do for His sake. He nerves the 
soul for high endeavour. He enables it to face life 
with courage that is high, and yet humble, and 
though its achievements may be unrecorded and its 
intrepid following of the right may remain un- 
trumpeted even as was that of James, such a life 


James, the Intrepid To 


cannot be in vain. Faith will bear its unwavering 
witness to the truth that makes men free, free 
from the service of self and from fear of what life 
may bring. It will stand as a landmark, in the day- 
time, like the great Statue of Liberty which, with 
uplifted arm, rises high above the swirling waters 
at the entrance of New York harbour, immovable 
through winter storms as in the placid days of sum- 
mer, and when darkness falls, the bright beam of 
its witnessing light shall blaze like a beacon in the 
gloom, illumining the waters where other souls sail 
towards the haven. James, the intrepid! In an age 
like this, he has a message for the fearful in heart, 
for the craven in witness, for the faltering in faith. 
Be strong! 


IV 
PETER, THE IMPETUOUS 


“Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou 
shalt be called Cephas, which is by inter- 
pretation, A stone.” 

—John 1: 42. 


NAVE are always doing each other injustice,” says 
George Eliot, ‘‘and thinking better or worse 
of each other than we deserve, because we only see 
and hear separate words and actions. We don't 
see each other’s whole nature.” That is peculiarly 
applicable to our judgment on Peter. Ask the aver- 
age man what he thinks of Peter, and the chances 
are that his reply will be rather uncomplimentary 
than otherwise to the great Apostle. It will be 
probably to the effect that Peter was an arrogant, 
self-important, aggressive individual, intent on 
thrusting himself forward, seeking the first place 
and the last word on every possible occasion, and 
that, in the end, in spite of his loud protestations of 
loyalty and courage, he played the part of the cow- 
ard, not only fleeing before the foes of Christ like 
the rest, but adding denial to his desertion. Others 
may say that next to Judas who sold the Lord for a 
handful of silver, Peter takes lowest place. He 
was, in a word, Peter the impetuous! ‘That opinion 
warrants us in saying again that George Eliot is 
right in pointing to the fact that we base our criti- 


cisms or our compliments on the unstable foundation 
74 


Peter, the Impetuous 75 


of “separate words and actions.” But though we 
may allow the opinion of the outsider to find expres- 
sion, that does not say that we must take it at more 
than its face value, for we are confronted with this 
fact: Christ chose this imperfect man for a place in 
the inner circle of the Apostles, and what is more, 
He gave him some privileges the others did not en- 
joy. We must therefore look deeper for the true 
measure of Peter’s character, and as we trace its 
development stage by stage, we can be profoundly 
thankful that Divine grace can transform the soul 
from what is repellent to that which is alluring. 


PETER Was A MAN OF PARTS 


There is something about him that, in spite of ob- 
jectionable traits in his character, exerts a subtle fas- 
cination for most of us. Peter was a man so like 
the real human beings we know ourselves to be, that 
his very humanness is one of his chief attractions. 
We have no information about his early life, but we 
can well believe that he caused his unnamed mother 
many an anxious hour by reason of his adventurous 
escapades. She would watch the boy swarm up the 
mast of the fishing boat on the lake, terrified lest he 
should fall, and then call vainly to him as he leapt 
into the water and swam far beyond his depth. She 
would listen with concern as the dour old rabbi urged 
her to exercise more control over this fiery, young 
soul, pointing out the bad example he was setting 
not only to Andrew, his younger brother, but also 
to the other boys of the town. And yet, when the 
father came home, boiling with anger at the story 
some of the neighbours had told about the wild 


76 The Master and the Twelve 


pranks of his son, and resolved to enforce the moral 
of that story with due emphasis, the mother would 
intercede, proving as only a mother can, that all this 
wildness was but due to the exuberance of youth 
which would one day be turned to account, and also 
reminding Jona, as only a wife dare, that perhaps 
he had not been altogether a pattern of gentleness 
in his own youth. So the father had to be content 
with the Aramaic equivalent of ‘Boys will be boys,” 
and offered the youthful Simon some reproof, not 
unmixed with secret pride in his daring. ‘Those days 
passed swiftly enough, and the two brothers who 
were so vastly different from one another, joined 
forces as fishermen on the Sea of Galilee. The 
father could not do much to give them a start, but 
they managed to get one boat of which there is little 
doubt Peter would be in command. ‘They after- 
wards came to a working arrangement with the sons 
of Zebedee, possibly using the same landing place 
and stores, and trawling their nets between the two 
boats. So we link up those early days with the 
coming of the Baptist. 

Simon had doubtless questioned his brother about 
this strange preacher, and he was sufficiently in- 
terested to chaff Andrew about the sudden turn he 
had taken towards serious things. They did not ap- 
peal to Simon to any great extent, although he was 
naturally conversant with the hopes of the Hebrew 
people that eventually Jehovah would keep His 
word, and raise up a successor for the throne of 
David. But then, Simon was only just building up 
the business on the lake, and he had what appeared 
to him far more important things to think about 
than the fulfilment of prophecies. However, when 


Peter, the Impetuous 77/ 


Andrew seemed becoming more interested in religion 
than in his share of the work, Simon’s banter turned 
to bitterness. It was all very well up to a point, 
but business was business, and even the Scriptures 
enjoined, to Peter’s immense satisfaction, that a 
man should not be righteous overmuch. Both 
brothers had argued.the matter with considerable 
heat but without much success. Andrew had striven 
to convince Simon that this prophet was indeed pre- 
paring the way for the Messiah, but Simon was 
equally certain that Andrew was preparing the way 
for bankruptcy for them both, and unless he were 
willing to give more attention to the boat, then he 
would have to seek another partner. 

Things had come to a deadlock. When the 
brothers were out with the nets, Simon was by turns 
sullen and spiteful. He would go for an hour with- 
out speaking a word, and then like the thunder- 
storm that suddenly bursts through a scowling sky, 
he would give vent to bitter recriminations. But one 
evening the whole situation changed. Simon was 
there in the boat, waiting for Andrew to come back, 
for he had promised to return in time for the night’s 
work. But he was late, and Simon was weary of the 
way in which things were going. If Andrew did not 
come, then he had made up his mind that he was not 
going to lose any more trips through his unreliability 
and he had better . . . The sound of hasty foot- 
falls on the beach made Simon look up. Ah, here 
was Andrew, late again, and most likely full of ex- 
cuses, but now he would have to hear the truth. If - 
he thought this kind of thing could go on indefinitely, 
while their weekly catch was steadily diminish- 
ing, he was mistaken. ‘Simon!’’ Andrew’s voice 


78 The Master and the Twelve 


trembled with excitement. Peter slowly straightened 
his back as he turned towards his brother. ‘There 
was a look in Andrew’s face that kept back the 
studied reproof Simon had reserved for his coming. 
‘Simon!’ gasped the other breathlessly. ‘We have 
found the Messiah. You laughed at me before; you 
would not believe that John was right.” “And Iam 
not sure that I believe now. Where is He? I want 
to see Him for myself .. .” replied the cynical 
Simon. 

There was no question about the welcome they 
would receive, for Andrew had been reassured on 
that point by the attitude of Jesus to himself, but 
was it wise to bring the critical Simon face to face 
with the new Teacher? Yet it was worth risking 
much to convince Simon of His identity, and so the 
introduction was made. At once Jesus turned His 
penetrating gaze on Simon. It seemed as if those 
pure eyes were reading the unbelief written on the 
secret pages of the soul. That was not all they saw. 
On the contrary, Christ saw possible greatness in 
this man of parts. He gave the seeker a new name 
which was henceforth to be significant of what the 
Saviour saw: “Thou art Simon the son of Jona: 
thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by interpreta- 
tion, A stone.” 

What were Simon’s feelings? This was an unflat- 
tering designation. It was hardly the reception he 
had looked for from the Messiah, if this were really 
He. Did the Teacher imply that he was hard and 
unyielding as stone? But Peter knew himself to be 
more often so impulsive that stability was one of 
the last things to which he could lay claim. Or did 
Jesus mean that locked up in that rugged exterior 


Peter, the Impetuous 79 


there were innate greatness and beauty that might 
be liberated to adorn life and character? The truth 
is that our Lord regarded this fisherman as the 
sculptor of genius looks at a block of rough-hewn 
marble just torn from the quarry. ‘The undiscern- 
ing would see only a piece of stone, discoloured by 
weather-stains or marked by the chisels that had 
squared it before it was set up in the studio. But 
to the eyes of genius, there were other things to glad- 
den the heart and awaken desire. Locked up in the 
marble was an angel, ready with liberated wing 
to speed on its messages of mercy, or some great 
heroic figure that would inspire men by the splendid 
poise of the head, the eagerness and desire in the 
face. Only to the sculptor were these apparent, and 
only to the penetrating eyes of Divine purpose were 
the latent possibilities manifest. If, as has been 
said: 


“Love is observation, patience, vigilance, 
And heartfelt understanding, 
Love is wisdom in tender operation,” 


then here is plain proof of the love that burned in 
the heart of Christ for all men, and of the discern- 
ment that made Him choose Simon Peter not for 
what he was but for what he might one day be when 
the mallet and chisel had done their work of libera- 
tion. 

The unlovely traits of Peter’s character were re- 
pulsive to Christ, but it goes without saying that in 
that unhewn personality, our Lord saw the indica- 
tions of great, unselfish service. ‘That very impetu- 
osity that had brought him at once from the boat, 
and which early gave proof of its power, might be 


80 The Master and the Twelve 


so developed and disciplined that it would be of the 
first importance in coming days. This man who did 
not trust any one but himself, might, when once he 
had been taught his own limitations and the great- 
ness of life’s opportunities, become a leader of men. 
This man, so hot-blooded and impetuous, so self- 
confident and courageous, might yet be, when 
cleansed and consetrated, a valiant witness to the 
truth. 

Details of the days which followed are difficult to 
arrange. Those who had now been brought into per- 
sonal relationship with Jesus doubtless accompanied 
Him on some of His brief visits to neighbouring 
towns, and also went with Him to Jerusalem for the 
Passover. It was only subsequently that they were 
called to the complete abandonment of their secular 
toil. One day, Jesus came down to the lake, and 
found Simon and Andrew busy with the nets. His 
call had nothing of the piercing blast of the clarion, 
yet it moved them to the depths of their souls. They 
did not question His meaning: it was plain. ‘‘Fish- 
ers of men” could mean only one thing to those 
who had spent even that short time in His company. 
“Straightway they forsook their nets, and followed 
Him.” The incident had not passed unnoticed, 
though its meaning could hardly have been taken in 
by the other two brothers, James and John. But 
when they saw Jesus coming along the shore, accom- 
panied by Peter and Andrew, the discarded nets 
drifting away with the current, they knew that some- 
thing unusual was afoot. The call was repeated, and 
the sons of Zebedee followed suit with instant obedi- 
ence. With deeper meaning than the poet gave to 
the lines, we may say of these four men: 


Peter, the Impetuous Sl 


“Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs but to do or die.” 


The “do or die” spirit was certainly that of Peter, 
and that is why we find him a character so baffling 
and yet so perennially interesting. But if it be true, 
as Bishop Mandell Creighton says, ‘‘A man’s char- 
acter is more revealed by what he tries to do, than 
by what he succeeds in doing,” then Peter is worthy 
of knowing better. This man of varying moods, of 
restless energy, and headstrong nature, was a man of 
parts, and the wild pranks of his youth which issued 
into the fearless and adventurous fisherman, gave 
promise of great things when once Christ had con- 
quered him for the main purpose of life. 

He is not an isolated instance. Many a boy who 
thoughtlessly caused much anxiety to his parents by 
his hair-breadth escapes and almost uncontrollable 
spirits, has proved afterwards that these qualities 
were as the rough stone, waiting only for the mas- 
ter-hand to hew them into fine manhood. Ian Mac- 
laren with deft craftsmanship tells the story of Speug 
and Duncan Robertson in the village school. We do 
not wonder that they are described as “Young Bar- 
barians,” for they are a terror to all law-abiding citi- 
zens, and the despair of their Dominie. But he 
goes on to relate how Dunc showed his valour at Tel- 
el-Kebir, dying in the service of his country, while 
that same graceless Speug, having appeared at inter- 
vals from Australia, Texas, the Plate and the Cape, 
always straightforward, masterful, open-handed, and 
gallant, found himself at last holding a narrow pass 
with a handful of troopers against the fierce Mata- 


$2 The Master and the Twelve 


bele, and having sent a settler’s family back to 
safety, fought to the last man and his own last car- 
tridge, with his back against a rock—fitting symbol 
of the man himself. With a man who is timorous 
and mistrustful of his God-given powers, Christ can 
do little at first. With a man like Peter, confident 
and courageous, ready to make a dash in order to 
achieve the difficult, Christ can do much. But with 
the man who has been cleansed from cowardice as 
well as from over-confidence, who has been brought 
through the refining fires, and who is consecrated to 
the Divine service, Christ can do most. That is 
why He had faith in Peter: He looked not at the 
present but at future possibilities of valiant service 
for the Kingdom of God. 


\ y PETER Was A MAN IN THE MAKING 


The days of discipleship were full of opportuni- 
ties. ‘They were full too of bewildering experiences. 
Peter was often perplexed by the ways of the Mas- 
ter, for to his practical mind, it appeared that Jesus 
was not always as careful to make the best of His 
chances of securing popular support as He might be. 
He ventured to remonstrate with the Master on 
more than one occasion, but he was always met with 
the same baffling patience and wonderful forbear- 
ance. It was difficult to understand how One who 
could call the dead to life, who gave sight to the 
blind, and could cleanse the leper at a word, was 
willing to wander from place to place sometimes 
with insufficient food, and with no roof over His 
head except the indigo dome of the midnight sky. 
Nor did He seem to welcome the attentions of those 


Peter, the Impetuous 83 


who would do Him honour. Peter remembered 
how, after that marvellous cure in his own home that 
night at Capernaum, and the healing of multitudes 
of sick folk, Christ had disappeared for prayer to 
a secluded spot, and only with the greatest difficulty 
had Peter discovered where He was. When Peter 
told the Master what a profound impression had 
been made, so that all men were seeking for Him, 
what was Hisreply? “Let us go elsewhere into the 
next towns, that I may preach there also.” 

That was scarcely the way to gain adherents for 
the new Kingdom. And how long was the Master 
to live in this manifestly unfitting fashion? A 
king’s son who was soon to mount the vacant throne 
of his fathers would have taken steps to make his 
position secure by revealing something of his dig- 
nity, by producing his credentials, and by assuring 
the people whose support he desired that, while he 
was disguised for a time till he had gained the 
hearts of his subjects, thus avoiding the vigilance 
of his foes, soon they would see him arrayed as be- 
came a monarch. There was nothing of this about 
the Messiah-King, and it was puzzling. What was 
the consequence? Peter had foreseen it. He had 
tried to warn Jesus that His course was doomed to 
failure unless He openly showed Himself to be the 
Messianic Monarch. And the day came. Victory 
was within the Lord’s reach and He let it go! The 
multitudes impressed with His power to work 
miracles came to make Him king by force, and 
He...? “He departed again into a mountain Him- 
self alone.” Peter was perplexed. He had never 
seen anything like this, yet he did not doubt for a 
moment that this was veritably the Christ. He had 


84 The Master and the Twelve 


seen not only Christ’s power to work wondrous cures, 
but there was also that night when it seemed as 
though all the demons of the deep were intent on 
compassing His ruin. Yet, when the storm was at 
its height and the boat awash almost to the thwarts, 
He rose up at the cry of alarm from His friends, 
and rebuked the fury of the winds and waves. At 
once they were stilled as a fretful child when the 
mother’s embrace hushes its fears. 

Peter had felt a strange sublimity investing the 
Master’s words and deeds, and there were deeps 
sounded in his soul of which before he had been un- 
conscious. For example, Jesus had spoken about 
forgiveness, and Peter felt self-condemned. Samuel 
Johnson wrote: “Life is short. Let us not throw 
any of it away in useless resentment. It is best not 
tobe angry. Itis next best to be quickly reconciled.” 
He had been cherishing a grudge against one of his 
friends, and he is impelled to ask, “Lord, how oft 
shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? 
Till seven times?” Jesus saith, “I say not until 
seven times: but until seventy times seven.” That 
was only one of the many occasions when he had 
realised the immense difference between the plane 
on which he and his fellow-disciples lived, and the 
altitude of their Lord’s life. 

Still it could not be expected that others would 
understand the Saviour even as the disciples did, and 
so, Peter was almost prepared for what eventually 
happened. It seemed inevitable. The Master had 
incurred the displeasure of the people because He 
challenged their sincerity: they were following Him, 
not for what He desired to teach them, but rather to 
see Him do some extraordinary thing—multiplying 


Peter, the Impetuous 85 


the loaves, and thus providing for their hunger in the 
desert. He had told them the significance of that 
bread, pointing as it did to the Bread which came 
down from heaven, and Jewish prejudice and mate- 
rialism had been too much for the crowd. “Is not 
this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and 
mother we know? . . . Howcan this man give us 
his flesh to eat?’ ‘The hard saying could have but 
one result with such critical and coarse-minded peo- 
ple. They simply abandoned Him as One whom it 
was impossible to follow or believe. The clouds 
were gathering. Capernaum had cast Him out 
even as Nazareth had done before. Was He able 
to count on the loyal support of the Twelve? He 
turned to them, giving them the opportunity of 
going the way of the multitude if they so desired. 
“Will ye also go away?’ ‘The question was like a 
searchlight sweeping the skies and bringing into 
high relief things that had been shrouded in the 
sable wrappings of night. And Peter saw in that 
dazzling beam what before had been hidden from 
him. ‘This condescending Christ, seeking their vol- 
untary allegiance, giving the faint-hearted the chance 
of falling away, was verily a monarch of men. 
“Lord,” he cried, and there is passion in his tones, 
“to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of 
eternal life.” 

It was more than a great utterance. It was the 
proof that Christ’s personality had been making a 
daily deepening impress on the soul of His impetuous 
disciple. Christ might have His own reasons for 
veiling His glory, but there was no doubt now in 
Peter’s mind as to the power He possessed and the 
place He would eventually fill. Carlyle says: ‘Have 


86 The Master and the Twelve 


a purpose in life, and having it, throw into your 
work such strength of mind and muscle as God has 
given you.” Peter had such a purpose. There was 
a deeper note, and a more earnest effort to under- 
stand Jesus from that time, and though he was still 
impulsive, and frequently did the right thing in the 
wrong way, causing some jealousy among the rest, 
there was still a measure of progress. That momen- 
tous occasion at Caesarea Philippi when Christ ques- 
tioned His friends about the people’s verdict re- 
garding Him, marked another epoch in Peter’s life. 
Jesus asked, ‘‘Whom say ye that I am?” and with- 
out hesitation, Peter declared the faith that was in 
him and in his brethren. ‘‘Thou are the Christ, 
the Son of the living God.” (Matt. 16:13.) It 
is evident that this outspoken confession gave 
gratification to the Master’s heart. So much de- 
pended upon a clear grasp of the essential fact that 
He was indeed, despite all appearances to the con- 
trary, the Messianic King, and it indicates Peter’s 
growth in grace that, when this truth was revealed 
to him, he was able not only to comprehend it, but 
to express it with such assurance. Christ had not 
laboured in vain. The rough, shapeless stone had 
been slowly taking shape, and the spiritual was 
emerging from the grossly material. ‘‘Blessed art 
thou, Simon Bar-jona, for flesh and blood hath not 
revealed it unto thee, but My Father which is in 
heaven.” ‘Then followed that great word of the 
Master which has caused endless controversy, and 
which still divides men as to its correct interpreta- 
tion. “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will 
build My church.” 

There is here a play on words, for though there is 


Peter, the Impetuous 87 


no difference in the Aramaic between the Apostle’s 
name and the rock, in the Greek there is this change. 
‘Thou art Petros, and on this petra I will build My 
church.”” What is the significance of the two terms? 
Petros means a rock in its original bed, while petra 
describes a piece that has been dislodged. But that 
helps us only very little. Was Peter himself the 
foundation stone, or was it his confession regarding 
the Messianic character of Christ? “The Master’s 
words are emblazoned round the dome of St. Peter’s 
basilica in Rome. “Tu es Petrus et super hanc 
Petram aedificabo Ecclesiam meam.”’ But we are 
of the opinion that it is not the man, but his declara- 
tion on which our Lord placed the emphasis, or why 
did not Christ say, “Thou art Peter and on thee will 
I build my church?” It is his faith, not himself 
to which Christ referred. That being so, we can 
see that although there is no reference to the Atone- 
ment nor the Resurrection, on which grounds some 
hold that it is an inadequate confession, it cannot 
be denied that the essential fact is plainly grasped. 
This was indeed the Messiah, and though Peter was 
possibly unable to comprehend, at that time, all the 
term implied, it can be seen that herein are gathered 
up all the promises made to the fathers, and the 
Suffering Servant of Jehovah described by Isaiah 
and the Lamb of God described by John the Bap- 
tist, find their truest fulfilment in ‘‘the Christ, the 
Son of the living God.” 

The binding and loosing are interpreted as a ref- 
erence to things permitted or prohibited. It is rab- 
binical language, and the authority was afterwards 
given to the rest of the Apostles, enabling them to 
give guidance to those who wished to conform to 


88 The Master and the Twelve 


the requirements of the faith, for example, when the 
Apostles decided which course was to be adopted re- 
garding Gentile believers in Acts 15: 23. 

It is a singular thing, revealing the fact that Peter 
was still a man in the making though he had passed 
far from the rough-hewn stage, that this confession 
was followed by retrogression painful to behold. 
Knowing that the Apostles were now ready for fuller 
light, our Lord intimated to them that He must go 
up to Jerusalem, which would entail His death at 
the hands of the elders. He would however rise 
again at the third day. But here Peter’s impetuos- 
ity asserted itself once more, and with pitiable pre- 
sumption he began to remonstrate with Christ about 
such a course. His motives were doubtless better 
than his methods, but that did not save him from 
bitter rebuke. ‘‘Get thee behind Me, Satan,” fol- 
lows strangely on the great promise to ‘‘the Rock,” 
but it demonstrates that there was still much mate- 
rial to be cut away by the keen chisel of Christ be- 
fore the character of the Apostle was complete. 
The Mount of Transfiguration gave to Peter fur- 
ther confirmation that this was the Christ, and in 
spite of still manifest imperfections, we note a finer 
figure emerging as the days pass. That scene in the 
Upper Room, when he meets with a curt refusal our 
Lord’s request to be permitted to wash his feet, and 
_ when he hears that this means he has no part with 
the Saviour, cries passionately, ‘““Lord, not my feet 
only, but also my hands and my head,” makes us 
hope for better things. When again we hear his 
stout protestations of loyalty in view of possible 
declension on the part of some, we are gratified with 
his progress. “Although all shall be offended, yet 


Peter, the Impetuous 89 


will not I.’ But the words were scarcely uttered 
before our Lord answered, “Verily, I say unto thee, 
that this day, even in this night, before the cock 
shall crow twice, thou shalt deny Me thrice.” The 
old impetuousness of the man rose like a flame: “If 
I must die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee.” 
The fire died down as quickly as it had arisen. It was 
not the time for words. ‘The sorrowful face of the 
Saviour, and the sense of mischief afoot, were sufi- 
ciently unnerving. It was with a sigh of relief that 
Peter found himself out in the sweet night air, walk- 
ing silently towards the Garden. Perhaps he blamed 
himself for what had happened. ‘There had been 
too much of self in that hour of tender parting, and 
he was, moreover, somewhat shaken by Christ’s evi- 
dent lack of confidence in him. He was consoled by 
the fact, however, that when the Saviour went apart 
to pray, He asked the three who had been with Him 
before on two other important occasions, to share 
the watch with Him. 

Peter found himself living over those hours again. 
In the ruler’s house, he had seen Christ as the Lord 
of life; on the Mount he had seen the glory of the 
Son of God; and now, by a strange trick of memory, 
Andrew’s words about the Lamb of God whom the 
Baptist described came back, blending with the line 
of the Scriptures—‘The Lord hath laid on Him the 
iniquity of us all.” He was looking on the sacrificial 
Saviour of the race. To think that they had spent 
nearly three years with Him, and yet they had only 
understood a tithe of His teaching! At least Peter 
would be worthier in the future. But even as the 
resolution was forming in his mind, he felt his eyes 
closing, and overcome by the strain of impending 


90 The Master and the Twelve 


ill, and the warmth of the night, he slept. How long 
he slumbered, he hardly knew, but he was roused by 
flaring lights, and by the tones of a loved voice say- 
ing, “Sleep on now . . . behold, the Son of Man is 
betrayed.” Peter was alert ina moment. Betrayed? 
Not if he could help it. The sword leapt from its 
scabbard as a young man of the High Priest’s guard 
laid hold of the Lords He dealt him a blow that, but 
for a skilful stepping aside on the part of Malchus, 
would have laid him dead, but the calm voice of 
Christ rang out, ‘‘Put up thy sword. . . . The cup 
which My Father hath given Me, shall I not drink 
it?’ It was just what Peter had deplored many a 
time. There was no undcrstanding what course the 
Master would adopt! When His friends wanted to 
help Him, He refused their aid. If the Master had 
listened to him before, He might by now have had 
the whole populace at His feet. 

Perplexed and sorrowful, Peter could not leave 
the matter there, and by means of John’s influence, 
he found himself in the courtyard of the High Priest. 
At least, he would hear what was going on, and it 
might be that even yet there might be means of do- 
ing something. Impetuous still, he cannot be left 
to his own thoughts: he must act somehow to prove 
that Christ was mistaken in supposing that he, the 
Rock, would not be stable in the storm! Alas, the 
banter of the soldiery put all those noble thoughts 
to flight, and after he had been challenged three 
times, each time rebutting the accusation with grow- 
ing anger, and letting his temper slip the leash, he 
came out with a volley of oaths, denying that he ever 
knew the Galilean. In the tense silence that fell on 
the group round the fire came the shrill crowing of 


Peter, the Impetuous 91 


the distant cock. The chill dawn was not more deso- 
late than Peter’s soul, and as he moved slowly from 
the fire, hardly realising what had happened, the 
passing of a party across the courtyard attracted 
his notice. There was Jesus. He was being taken 
to stand trial again, but as He looked at Peter’s 
troubled face, there was only tender reproach in 
those eyes, and Peter’s heart broke. 

What Peter did in the days that followed no one 
knows. He was unworthy of such a Master. He 
had virtually betrayed Him, just as Judas had done. 
How then could he count himself among the Lord’s 
friends? He was a denier, a deserter, a dastard. 
The vain attempt to get beyond reach of his accus- 
ing conscience led him far from the cruel scenes of 
Golgotha, but the darkness that overspread the 
earth as that terrible tragedy was enacted was not 
more dense than that which filled the soul of Peter. 
His apostleship was ended. His _high-sounding 
promises of life-long loyalty came back like accusing 
spectres, pointing the finger of scorn at him. He, 
the Rock? Nay, Peter felt himself a man of shift- 
ing sand—utterly unreliable and base. Yet what 
were those words he had momentarily forgotten? 
‘‘T have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and 
when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.” 

Keats has beautifully said: 


“There is a budding morrow in midnight,” 


and Peter found this in the recollection of Divine 
aid. He had a duty to his brethren, and was not 
Christ looking to him to do his part? Even though 
he had failed miserably, there was no reason why he 


92 The Master and the Twelve 


should endorse that failure by perpetuating his de- 
fection. No! he would strive to live as his Lord 
wished. But again spectral laughter unnerved him. 
The disciples would know that he had played a piti- 
able part that night. They would remember his 
stout words in disparagement of them, and his 
proud boast that at least Christ could depend on 
him! Perhaps had it not been for a chance meeting 
with John, the course of Peter’s life might have 
been different. They met, possibly under cover of 
darkness, and after Peter had obtained news of all 
that had happened, the two decided to join the other 
nine. Yet with the break of day, came word that 
the tomb was empty. They both ran there, but John 
was younger and more fleet of foot, and when Peter 
reached the tomb, there was John standing outside, 
afraid to enter. Peter pushed in. It was as the 
women said. The Lord had gone. Gone where? 
Again, kind memory which more often ministers 
healing to the heart than mocking of our strivings 
and failure, came to his aid. ‘The Master had said 
something about this very thing: He had speci- 
fied the third day, and . . . He had risen! 

From the depths of despair, Peter’s soul soared 
to the heights, but from the heights he went down 
again to even lower depths as he realised that he 
had neither part nor lot with One so tender and 
faithful. Yet Peter was still in the making. How 
then could he know fully the extent of the Saviour’s 
compassion? ‘There came the Risen Master to con- 
verse with him, receiving in private the story of his 
shame and sorrow. ‘That interview is mentioned 
without any details of what occurred, and yet it left 
the Apostle still undecided as to his future course, 


Peter, the Impetuous 93 


for it was after that he suggested going back to the 
lake. But there, with the morning light, came a 
better day. Christ met His friends on the shore, 
and receiving the threefold affirmation of Peter’s 
love, He gave him not only the thrice repeated com- 
mission, but in the presence of the others reinstated 
him as one of His chosen friends; forgiven, loved, 
and restored. Peter’s love for Christ was the re- 
deeming feature of those saddening days. ‘Only 
give me love,” says Henry Drummond, “‘pure, burn- 
ing love, and loyalty to Him, and I shall climb from 
law to law, through grace and glory, to the place be- 
side the throne where the angels do His will.’”’ And 
it was love—Christ’s love for the Apostle, and the 
passionate love of the Apostle for Christ—that flung 
open the door of new life to Peter, the impetuous. 
As the saintly Tauler has it, “Such a man did never 
before so heartily and strongly love as now he doth. 
Yea, and his care is how he may order his life right 
Christianly, and fashion it anew, and, out of fervent 
love toward his Lord and Saviour, exercise himself 
without ceasing in all good work and virtue.” 


THE MAKING OF THE MAN 


is seen in those trying experiences and in what fol- 
lowed Pentecost. Peter took his place again with 
the ten, and they never questioned his right to the 
leadership for which he had been peculiarly fitted, 
and to which he had been called. It is true he had 
vowed splendidly and fallen shamefully. He sank 
vilely but rose valiantly. He began boastfully, but 
ended brilliantly, bringing honour to his Master and 
blessing both to the early Church and to the whole 


94 The Master and the Twelve 


Christian family. The days preceding Pentecost 
revealed a chastened and consecrated Peter. Christ’s 
chisel had brought forth hidden beauties of character 
and unsuspected qualities of greatness from that 
block of shapeless stone. 

With the coming of the Spirit, behold, the cow- 
ardly are courageous. ‘The door shut for fear of 
the Jews is flung open, and those men, who had been 
afraid of their own shadow, were now fearless as 
lions in the cause of Christ. The time was oppor- » 
tune. It was a feast-day, and Jerusalem was 
crowded with pilgrims from every part. It was 
these who formed a large part of the audience which 
Peter addressed, and as he musters his facts, appeal- 
ing to history and prophecy as well as to the happen- 
ings of recent days, we are moved with wonder. 
Inspired by the Spirit, his very soul takes fire. There 
is a new-found gift of oratory that owes something 
to natural endowment, for there is the glint of the 
sunlit seas in his eyes and the sound of the wind in 
the rigging. There are gentler notes as when the 
water lapped sweetly against the sides of his vessel 
in the old days, for he is too conscious of his own 
frailty to rail unduly at the unbelief of the unin- 
formed. But when he accuses the leaders of perfidy 
and unwillingness to see the light, there is the indig- 
nation which he felt against his own baser self. 
Granted that his reference to the patriarch David 
was masterly, and his appeal to the Scriptures 
worthy of the skilled advocate, there was something 
more than Peter’s fiery enthusiasm in all this. ‘There 
was power from on high. The Holy Spirit had 
taken possession of the surrendered soul, and love, 
kindling the fire, gave forth its witness to the things 


Peter, the Impetuous 95 


which to him were of supreme importance. “Though 
I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but 
have not love,” said Paul later, ‘I am become sound- 
ing brass or a clanging cymbal.” Peter had found 
what true love for Christ meant, and out of the ful- 
ness of his own experience of forgiving mercy, he 
pleaded the cause of the Saviour with overwhelming 
success. 

The healing of the impotent man at the Temple 
Gate gave him further opportunity of revealing the 
power of the Spirit, and his appearance before the 
Sanhedrin was remarkable. What they intended to 
be a speech in defence of himself, Peter turned into 
one of full and fearless condemnation of them. ‘Be 
it known unto you all, and to all the people of Israel, 
that by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom 
ye crucified, whom God raised from the dead, even 
by Him doth this man stand before you whole.” 
They were thunder-struck by the boldness of Peter 
and John, and it is a confession of their own impo- 
tence that they simply commanded the two not to 
speak again in that Name. Verily, Peter had 
changed past belief under the touch of the Risen 
Redeemer. 

In the development and organisation of the 
Church he filled a glorious place, condemning the 
falsehood of Ananias, confirming the faith of those 
in Samaria who had been led into the light through 
_the preaching of the Evangel, and afterwards travel- 
ling through many provinces of the Empire seeking 
fresh conquests for the Cross. The experience at 
Joppa gave him enlarged views of the call which 
Christ addressed to all men, and although there was 
some misunderstanding on the question of the ad- 


96 The Master and the Twelve 


mission of the Gentiles, in which he and Paul were 
at variance, eventually those differences were settled. 
He was arrested when James was martyred under 
Herod Agrippa, but afterwards released for further 
service in the cause of Christ. All the impetuous- 
ness of his earlier life had been directed into a new 
and deeper channel. It was now seen in untiring 
effort to extend the Saviour’s sway and in daring de- 
votion to His will. It was almost as though Peter 
were anticipating Whittier’s haunting lines: 


““Heaven’s gate is shut to him who comes alone: 
Save thou a soul, and it shall save thine own.” 


And in his letters there is not only the witness of a 
man who has grappled with the facts of faith, and 
has come to strength through struggle, but also a 
tender solicitude for the world’s good that has its 
source in the compassions of Christ which had kept 
Peter himself from utter despair. 

He the self-seeking, the arrogant and boastful, de- 
siring the premier position on every occasion, had 
been re-made. Those days with Christ had taught 
him much, and possibly the hours subsequent to his 
desertion taught him even more. He realised then 
that he could not live without the conscious blessing 
of his Lord, and it was his avowed purpose to en- 
able men to see that in Him was the life indeed. 
There is a hint in his letters that persecution would 
test the sincerity and stability of his Christian 
friends, and Peter was to know for himself the 
meaning of those words which had seemed so cryptic 
at the time: ‘‘Verily, verily, I say unto thee, When 
thou wast young, thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst 


Peter, the Impetuous 97 


whither thou wouldest, but when thou shalt be old, 
thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall 
gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not.” 
And the once cowardly proved his valour; the denier 
showed his devotion. Nero had ascended the throne 
at this time, and his excessive vanity in his poetical 
powers, by which he hoped not only to equal Homer 
and Ovid, but to surpass them, is supposed to be the 
cause for the burning of Rome. Be that as it may, 
the Christians were blamed for the conflagration, 
and in order to appease the ruined and desperate 
populace, it was decreed that a new Rome should 
rise in place of the old, and that the ruins would be 
washed out in blood. The Empire was scoured for 
wild beasts of every kind. A temporary building 
was erected, and the games in which the victims were 
the Christians, were commenced. Nothing that vile 
ingenuity could suggest was left out. Groups of 
Christian women and men were sewn up in the skins 
of beasts and flung to the lions. Yet before they met 
their death, they stood before the imperial box and 
sang their hymn, “Christus regnat,’’—Christ reigns! 
Others were wrapped in inflammable material and 
being placed on high poles, were set on fire to illu- 
mine the gardens of the Emperor. But they did 
not flinch at their sufferings, and they kindled a light 
of valiant witness for the truth that shall never be 
put out. 

Peter was eventually taken, and brought into the 
presence of Nero. The tradition runs that follow- 
ing a suggestion which Nero found in the writings 
of Seneca that famous criminals were sometimes 
crucified head downwards, Peter was executed in that 
way. Whatever be the truth or otherwise of the 


98 The Master and the Twelve 


tradition, there is no doubt that Peter was martyred 
under Nero in A. D. 64, and that he proved his 
fidelity even to the end. His character came to com- 
pletion as the work of a sculptor takes on the form 
which the master-mind saw in the rough stone, and 
of the man of sand, Christ made a rock-hewn figure 
which commands admiration not so much by reason 
of the figure itself, but because of the patience and 
skill of the Master-hand. ‘The denier had been 
transformed into the director of the Church’s devel- 
opment. The privileged beholder of Christ’s maj- 
esty had become the upholder of His honour in the 
face of friend and foe alike. The fiery, impetuous 
self-seeker had been changed into one of the great- 
est Christians who ever lived to lavish the love he 
felt for the Saviour on those who were, like himself, 
anxious to live for Christ. ‘Love is not getting, but 
giving,’ says Van Dyke. “It is goodness and honour, 
and peace and pure living. Love is the best thing in 
the world, and the thing that lives longest.” 

So from the rough block brought from the quarry 
to the studio of the sculptor, we have seen Peter 
passing under the hand of Christ. Great cleaving 
blows were first necessary in order to remove the 
unsightly stains and primeval roughness of the 
material, but when that was done, slowly the shape- 
less stone began to take form, and with infinite 
patience, Christ worked on till the soul of the 
Apostle was seen, fashioned in the likeness of his 
Lord, and an inspiration to all who looked on it. 
We may take courage as we remember that though 
many a blemish may remain in us, the same Master 
is at work upon the material of our womanhood and 
manhood. We have but to respond to His hand, to 


Peter, the Impetuous 99 


obey the direction of His Spirit, and though we 
cannot fill the niche in the temple of Fame occupied 
by Peter, we can yet realise the will of the Father 
for each of us, and become examples of His divine 
grace. 


V 
PHILIP, THE PRUDENT 


“Fle findeth Philip, and Jesus saith unto 
him, Follow Me,” 


—John 1: 43. 


RUDENCE has been defined as “‘the ability of 
judging what is best in the choice both of ends 
and means.” If that be true, then, though there was 
considerable difidence blending with his prudence 
at the outset, it describes fairly accurately the char- 
acter of Philip. He was ruled more by the intellect 
than the emotions, and before committing himself 
to any definite course, he first weighed the pros and 
cons with scrupulous care. 

He is a man of whom we do not expect to hear 
much. His gifts were of a quiet order. Only occa- 
sionally do we find him taking a prominent part in 
the events of those epoch-making days, but in each 
case there is something which helps us to understand 
better his peculiar temperament. It is like travelling 
through a tunnel where, at intervals, there are shafts 
admitting light and air, so that we get momentary 
glimpses of the sky through the billowing smoke, and 
every incident, therefore, in which Philip appears 
must be closely examined if we are to form any esti- 
mate of the man and his worth, or trace his develop- 
ment as a disciple. Probably he was the first whom 
Jesus found without the intervention of any one 


else. Andrew and John went in search of Christ at 
100 


Philtp, the Prudent 101 


the behest of the Baptist, while both Peter and James 
owed their acquaintance with Him to others. But 
Jesus “findeth Philip.” This is most suggestive. He 
desired this unobtrusive, thoughtful man, who would 
be unlikely to leap to conclusions hastily, and who 
was too modest to force himself on the notice of the 
Teacher. We can say this without any disparage- 
ment of those whose eagerness brought them such 
blessing. A man like Philip—prudent, patient and 
humble-minded—would be an invaluable addition to 
the ranks of the disciples. His thoughtfulness and 
circumspection would act as a corrective to the im- 
petuous or the impressionable; he would not be un- 
duly elated by success nor easily daunted by failure. 
And Christ sought him. The terse yet constraining 
command fell on his ear, “Follow Me!”’ 

Did he obey immediately? A tradition mentioned 
by Clement of Alexandria records that Philip was 
the man who asked the Master’s permission to bury 
his father first before leaving home. ‘That can be 
neither affirmed nor denied. The Fourth Gospel 
yields the fact that he apparently did not at once 
join the group, but. went off to consult his friend 
Nathanael. “Still waters run deep!’’ It is what 
we might expect of Philip. True, his soul had been 
stirred by this sudden call to discipleship. He had 
never dreamed that such an honour could come his 
way. Yet he was not blind to its significance. It 
would mean the abandonment of business and home, 
for this Preacher had taken that course Himself, 
and to follow Him implied as much for a disciple. 
But it would also mean a definite allegiance to His 
mission, which even then was known to be Messianic 
in character. Ought he to take such a step? To 


102 The Master and the Twetve 


what would it commit him? ‘These were questions 
that exercised his prudent mind as he wended his way 
to Nathanael’s house. But on the other side there 
was a profound conviction that Jesus was the actual 
fulfilment of long-cherished hopes, although that, 
however, seemed too good to be true. Might he 
not be mistaken? He would submit it to the dispas- 
sionate judgment of his friend. After all, he would 
argue, two heads were better than one. Yet this man 
who combined both caution and confidence in this 
strange way, felt sure his impression was a correct 
one. He would put it to Nathanael as a definite 
discovery, and see what effect it would have on him. 

When at length he came upon his friend, with 
surprising suddenness for one usually prudent, Philip 
blurted out the news. ‘‘We have found Him, of 
whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did 
write: Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.” 
Philip scanned the face before him, wondering 
whether his own opinion would be confirmed or not. 
Nathanael, slowly laying aside the roll over which he 
had been poring, looked at Philip, and then in quiet, 
decisive tones asked the question which stabbed the 
soul back to reality. “Can there any good thing come 
out of Nazareth?’ Alas! hope, which had been 
soaring with wide-spread wings, crashed to earth. 
“Nazareth?” The current saying which was later 
quoted by Christ’s critics flashed through Philip’s 
mind, “Search, and look: for out of Galilee ariseth 
no prophet,” and—Nazareth was in Galilee! Then 
he was mistaken? His mind felt temporary relief 
that he had been saved in time from a disastrous 
step; yet a moment after, the dull pain of disappoint- 
ment was felt. He had been so moved by those 


Phelep, the Prudent 103 


gracious tones, so profoundly impressed by the call 
to be the companion of One so exalted—and this 
was the end of everything! Yet it were perhaps un- 
wise to attach too much weight to Nathanael’s 
opinion. Philip had seen Christ; Nathanael had not. 
Suppose the popular proverb were at fault? ‘There 
could be no harm in asking his friend to go into the 
matter more carefully, for it was too important to 
dismiss in that summary fashion. ‘The clouds lifted 
from Philip’s face, as turning once more to the quiet 
figure before him, he said pathetically, ‘‘Come and 
see.’ ‘here were two things Philip had in mind. If 
Nathanael were convinced that this were the Christ, 
it would mean not only the sharing of a great dis- 
covery, but the lifting of a heavy responsibility—that 
of making a decisive answer to Christ’s compelling 
cause. If, on the other hand, Nathanael’s judgment 
remained unsatisfied, it would relieve Philip of fur- 
ther anxiety in the matter. His course would be 
clear. The call would be declined. 

This cautious figure lacks the fine qualities that 
awaken admiration. We much prefer the man who 
loves the highest when he sees it, and who, with un- 
calculating heart and noble enthusiasm, flings pru- 
dence aside and follows the soul’s impulse. But 
there is still need for a man of Philip’s peculiar tem- 
perament in the company of Christ’s followers, and 
though while he is still undeveloped and immature, 
he may weary us with his deliberateness, when those 
finer qualities are brought out they will prove of un- 
doubted worth. He represents that type which sits : 
down first and counts the cost, and having done so, — 
is prepared to follow Christ whatever it may mean. 
Such a man is worth untold gold to the cause of the 


104 The Master and the Twelve 


Kingdom. Philip may have been deliberate, but at 
last he became a determined disciple of Christ. His 
choice was the logical outcome of careful considera- 
tion of the Master’s claims, and though he lacked 
striking gifts, his life was marked with fine devotion 
and persistence. 


THE SECOND STAGE 


in Philip’s development came in due course. Those 
days of happy fellowship with Jesus before the 
miracle of feeding the multitude (John 6: 5-7), had 
resulted in considerable growth of character. He 
had been cheered to find that his impression of 
Christ was correct. No one likes to discover he has 
made a mistake in his friends, or to admit that his 
discrimination has been at fault. Philip was no ex- 
ception in this. On the contrary, he found satisfac- 
tion in recalling his surprisingly accurate judgment 
of the Master’s worth, and the confident manner in 
which he had commended Him to Nathanael. But 
the strength and serenity of that life surpassed any- 
thing Philip had conceived possible, while the power 
the Master wielded, giving health and hope to the 
despairing, was a cause of unceasing wonder. The 
only thing about which Philip felt any misgiving was 
the apparent indifference of Christ to public senti- 
ment. The prudent disciple could not regard this 
without some uneasiness. He had personally been 
most careful all his life not to incur unnecessary 
criticism. His favourite method of progress had 
always been to take the line of least resistance. Pru- 
dence demanded it, and—it paid. That was why 
he had been so anxious not to make any mistake 


Phelep, the Prudent 105 


about the call to follow Christ. Had the Master 
been other than He was, it would have brought noth- 
ing but ridicule on Philip, and no man could afford 
to forfeit the good opinion of his friends. 

But that was just where Jesus seemed to lack a 
little prudence. None could doubt the wisdom and 
sincerity of His words. ‘To look into that open face 
with its flashing eyes, to listen to those vibrant tones, 
now softly mellow like the calm music of evening, 
now wildly challenging as when the upgathered 
winds slipped their leash and roared through the 
rocky defiles of Jordan, was to feel the absolute 
truth of the Teacher’s soul. Yet He spoke out un- 
caring for the opposition aroused. He brushed aside 
hoary traditions, without ceremony. He abrogated 
certain parts of the Law as superseded, saying quite 
decisively, “Ye have heard that it was said of old 
timem is Dut Say wey) And, while’ therevwere 
some who were plainly in sympathy with such cour- 
ageous utterances, Philip felt more and more that 
‘the people who mattered’’—the thoughtful and in- 
fluential, who were the acknowledged religious lead- 
ers of the nation—were being alienated. Was that 
sounc policy? Moreover, Philip, while he had been 
interested in political questions which had long agi- 
tated the Jewish mind, had been careful not to take 
an unpopular side. It wasnotsafe. It was not even 
wise for a man who had any stake in the community, 
for Rome had a strong hand when she was roused, as 
Judas of Gamala found to his cost. That is why 
Philip viewed with grave concern Christ’s apparent 
indifference to the crowds that followed Him. 
Doubtless the Master, with His profound belief in 
human sincerity, imagined the people wanted to hear 


106 The Master and the Twelve 
His Gospel. But did they? Philip had serious 


doubts about some of them. He recognized faces, 
here and there, of men who were avowed revolu- 
tionaries. He knew too, that while the majority 
were enraptured with the Saviour’s teaching, when 
the pangs of hunger assailed them and they realised 
how far they were from the town, there would be a 
tumult. They would forget that they had volun- 
tarily followed Him from place to place. All that 
they would remember was that they were hungry, 
and food was unprocurable. How would He face 
the famishing crowd? Did He realise that famine 
might easily give rise to frenzy and fanaticism, and 
that in the riotous scenes which would ensue, Rome 
would hold Christ responsible? It would be im- 
possible to convince the authorities that He was 
blameless, and that these people had followed Him, 
like the fabled Pied Piper, of their own choice. No! 
The Jewish leaders, anxious to show their own 
blamelessness in the matter, and incidentally to re- 
pay some of the unmeasured criticisms of their con- 
duct, would readily put the responsibility on Jesus. 


“Trifles light as air 
Are to the jealous, confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ.” 


The situation was fraught with grave possibilities. 
Philip was right in that. The Bread Riots which 
broke out in Britain in the hungry Forties, show the 
lengths to which famine will force men. The excesses 
to which fanaticism can lead are seen in Sir Hall 
Caine’s graphic work “The Christian.” There, 
under the denunciations of John Storm, the multi- 


Phelep, the Prudent 107 


tudes of London throw reason to the winds. They 
mistake his condemnation of -their wickedness, and 
misinterpreting his threats of divine judgment, take 
it that he is foretelling the doom of the city. 
Though he has said nothing to warrant it, even the 
day is fixed in the popular mind. Some sell their 
businesses. Crowds leave their homes and throng 
the public parks. His church is besieged by a terror- 
stricken mob which, unable to find admittance to the 
sanctuary, kneels in abject fear in the street with- 
out. It is the Derby Day. Deep clouds hang in the 
sky. Ominous thunders roll across the city, the 
domes and towers of which are illumined by blind- 
ing flashes of lightning, and as night falls, the panic- 
filled people wait for the dreadful hour to strike. 
Midnight passes, but nothing happens. A new day 
steals with benediction over the streets. Sudden re- 
action takes place, and some who had blessed the 
preacher as their divine deliverer, now denounce him 
as the arch-deceiver, seeking him out that they 
may wreak vengeance on him for fears unfulfilled. 
John Storm eventually falls beneath the angry 
blows of some whom he had simply sought to bless, 
and dies the victim of popular ignorance and hate. 
It is not too much to suggest that Philip felt the 
perils that might threaten his Master. But when 
Christ put the question to him, ‘“‘Whence are we to 
buy bread that these may eat?” it proved that his 
anxiety was shared by the Lord Himself. It seemed 
a hopeless situation. The prudent mind had already 
estimated the cost: ‘Iwo hundred pennyworth of 
bread is not sufficient for them that every one may 
take a little.” 

It were good to be a prudent disciple of the Lord, 


108 The Master and the Twelve 


but it were better to trust Him implicitly, believing in 
His ability to meet any crisis that might arise. Like 
many of us, Philip was worrying himself unneces- 
sarily. Christ had already seen the situation and 
the grounds for disquiet, but His sympathy with 
the hungry multitude was not more marked than His 
solicitude for the harassed disciple. He would have 
Philip learn, as well.as those who might come after 
-him, that even prudence must make allowance for the 
divine power. It is true that human foresight and 
care are indispensable, but is it not equally true that 
for some of life’s emergencies they are totally inade- 
quate? Weare perplexed by the problems of human 
life, but in part that is due to our imperfect knowl- 
edge and our partial faith. Larger place for the 
divine resources must be given in all our efforts to 
remove poverty and want, and as we are willing to 
take Christ into account, even though our power to 
help the world be limited, we shall find that His com- 
passion exceeds our calculations, and His provision 
of grace shall more than supply the wants of human- 


ity. 


THE THIRD STAGE 


of Philip’s development is marked by the quest of 
the Greeks (John 12:21). ‘Though much time had 
elapsed since the needs of the multitude had been 
met, we may be sure the effect of that experience 
remained. Philip’s character was forming slowly, 
but though he never surprised his friends with any 
great achievement, it was evident that he was grow- 
ing in solid reliability and efficiency. It is a long 
time before the buried bulb gives any hint of life, 


Phelep, the Prudent 109 


and longer still before the fragrant flower unfolds. 
But once its bonds are broken, colour, perfume, and 
symmetry, show the power of the life that lay dor- 
mant. So Philip’s personality was growingly felt. 
And the coming of the Greeks proved it. They 
were either pilgrim-proselytes or traders who had 
come to Jerusalem at the time of the feast, and 
not only had they heard strange stories of the 
Galilean, but they had also listened to Him for 
themselves. ‘The culture in His tones, the note of 
universality in His teaching, marked Him out at 
once as a man whose religious life was not only 
sincere, but broad as the sea itself. Moreover, He 
swept the souls of these Greeks as the writings of 
their own poets and the periods of their orators 
had never done. They wanted to meet Him. But 
how could this be done? Enquiries elicited the fact 
that one of Christ’s friends bore a Greek name. 
It was Philip. Yet we are not convinced that that 
was the only reason why they appealed to this par- 
ticular disciple. It was also because they saw this 
man to be quiet in manner, and one who wore the 
air of brotherly sympathy. They secured a word 
with him, without interrupting the Master’s teach- 
ing, and said, “Sir, we would see Jesus.” 

Traces of the old lack of self-confidence are im- 
mediately noticeable. Instead of complying with 
their request, or at any rate, assuring them that he 
would take them to Christ at the first opportunity, 
Philip referred the matter to Andrew. ‘Would it 
be all right? These men were not Jews, and they 
had not stated their reasons for desiring a personal 
interview. What was his opinion?’ At that mo- 
ment the Master’s discourse ended, and the visitors 


110 The Master and the Twelve 


were presented to Christ. Still difiident and unde- 
cided what our Lord’s response would be, Philip 
stands aside while Andrew speaks to Him, and then, 
relieved as well as surprised, he listens to the exult- 
ing words with which Jesus welcomed these men of 
another nation. They are the heralds of a great 
multitude yet to hear the voice and feel the spell 
of that Master of men. ‘They are as the golden 
streaks of dawn proclaiming the advent of a new 
day. And as the soul of Christ expressed its joyous 
hopes, Philip must have felt a pang of regret that 
he had given away the honour of bringing these 
men to the Saviour’s side. It had been just what 
Christ desired, and he might have shared the satis- 
faction of that moment. Yet suppose, on the other 
hand, the Lord had resented it as an intrusion. 

. ? Over-prudent still! When would he have 
the courage to follow the leadings of his better self, 
or obey the impulse within? He was probably 
angry with himself that he had missed another 
chance of showing his faith in the divine mission of 
the Master. He may have felt that Jesus would 
regard it as wanting in loyalty to Himself. If he 
thought that, it only proved that courage was not 
the only thing he had still to learn. 

Many a time, Jesus would look upon Philip, 
noting the hesitancy and fear of committing him- 
self that still remained. But those eyes were all- 
discerning. » Men ‘say, Love asmblind isuires 
Love sees more clearly than anything else, and be- 
cause the Lord loved each of His followers with 
profound affection, He saw qualities hidden from 
the common gaze. Some day, Philip would cast 
aside his fears. He would never be rash or adven- 


Phelep, the Prudent 111 


turous, but his individuality would yet be developed, 
acting as a curb on the headstrong and impetuous, 
and with prudent counsel that took all the facts 
into account, perhaps saving the Apostles from 
some grievous mistakes in policy. Christ had 
“found” Philip; one day, when the period of in- 
struction were complete, Philip would find himself. 
Till that time, the Master was content to wait pa- 
tiently for the perfecting of His friends. It is our 
encouragement that He remains unchanged, and 
that there are no limits to either the divine patience 
or hope. Were it not so, we might well lose heart. 


THE FourTH STAGE 


reveals Philip still blundering towards the goal, and 
yet much the same man as he was at the commence- 
ment of his career as a disciple. Jesus and the 
Twelve are in the Upper Room. (John 14.) It is 
the last evening they were to spend together in that 
fateful week. A sense of impending disaster lies 
heavy on the company. ‘Things had begun badly 
with the dispute about foot-washing, and although 
Christ had done the magnificently forgiving deed, 
and had apparently put the incident from Hin, it 
was evident that He did not intend to risk such a 
scene again. He was going to end the matter by 
leaving them. This was Philip’s first impression. 
More in sorrow than in anger, Christ spoke darkly 
of certain probable events that would mean the 
dissolution of their friendship, but as He proceeded, 
His words impinging on Philip’s benumbed mind 
with the muffled beat of showers on a window- 
pane, a little of His meaning was grasped. No; 


112 The Master and the Twelve 


the disciple was mistaken. It was not because of 
what had happened that their Lord was leaving 
them; it was rather in pursuance of some plan 
which evidently He wanted to divulge, but could 
not. Philip read his own prudence into Christ’s 
words. But when the Master spoke of going to 
the Father it seemed that some fuller information 
was needed, and Philip sought it. His first thoughts 
had been: Where were the disciples to find Christ 
in case of emergency? While He was away any- 
thing might happen—some question to which an 
answer ought to be immediately given, or some 
urgent matter which ought to be referred to the 
Lord Himself. How were they to know what to 
do? Now, however, the matter seemed too vague 
for any one to grasp, and Philip felt the ground 
slipping from beneath him, as he listened. It is 
the same Philip of yore who speaks: ‘“‘Lord, shew 
us the Father, and it sufficeth us.’’ But for once 
he had been imprudent. He had committed him- 
‘self to the definite admission of ignorance as to 
Christ’s meaning, and without intending it, he had 
given a stab to that tender heart. ‘‘Have I been 
so long time with you, and dost thou not know Me, 
Philip?” Here was further proof that, in spite 
of all Christ had said and been to that company, 
He had remained largely an enigma to them all, 
and Philip who had prided himself on the thorough- 
ness with which he examined every step he took, 
had been as faulty as any of the Twelve. 


After the culmination of the tragedy, Philip’s 
natural tendency would be to sever his connection 


Phelep, the Prudent 113 


with the company, but the patient work of Christ 
was beginning to bear fruit, and the disciple re- 
mained true to his vows. In the tumultuous days 
that followed, he found himself—his best self— 
even as Christ had discovered his sterling character 
at the commencement of his apostleship. When the 
rest were filled with dismay, Philip would be staunch 
and undaunted. Such a man would exert a benef- 
cial influence upon the whole company, and though 
he does not take any action that brings him into 
prominence again, we are convinced that Philip 
played no small part in shaping the policy of the 
Apostles, and in establishing the infant church. 
The hesitancy he displayed earlier in his career, 
and his unwillingness to shoulder responsibility or 
to make decisions, were the defects of his qualities, 
and these would largely disappear so that he would 
be a distinct acquisition to the Apostolate. 

Newman might have been describing Philip when 
he wrote: 


““Time was when I shrank from what was right, 
For fear of what was wrong; 
I would not brave the sacred fight, 
Because the foe was strong. 


“But now I cast that finer sense 
And sorer shame aside; 

Such dread of sin was indolence, 
Such aim at Heaven was pride. 


“So when my Saviour calls, I rise 
And calmly do my best; 
Leaving to Him, with silent eyes 
Of hope and fear, the rest. 


114. The Master and the Twelve 


“I step, I mount, where He has led, 
Men count my haltings o’er;— 
I know them; yet, though self I dread, 
I love His precept more.” 


The Church needs men of prudence and sagacity 
in the direction of her aftairs, and in these days 
when life is so complex, it is the calm, far-sighted 
soul, who can render service of primary importance. 
It is not only the man of outstanding ability, with 
enterprise and enthusiasm, who achieves great 
things, valuable as such qualities are. “The contem- 
plative and circumspect have also their part to play. 
Our one care must be, however, that while there is 
a definite place in the ranks of Christ’s followers 
for these diverse temperaments, there shall be no 
confusing of prudence with timidity or lack of faith 
in the divine aid. It is conceivable that if only the 
Philip type had been found in the apostolic com- 
pany, there would have been no such courageous 
conquests as made Pentecost memorable. ‘There 
might have been no Reformation had Luther been 
afraid to make his momentous stand. The ‘‘May- 
flower” would never have slipped her moorings, 
bearing her deathless band of noble-souled men and. 
women across the rolling wastes of ocean, had only 
counsels of prudence prevailed. But adventurous 
enthusiasm plus the consecrated commonsense of the 
Christian heart, can still achieve much for God and 
humanity, and it is in this blending of opposites that 
Christ can use the endowments and individuality of 
His disciples to further the gracious work of the 
Kingdom, and to ennoble and redeem the race. 


VI 
NATHANAEL, THE DEVOUT 


“Behold, an Israelite indeed in whom is 
no guile.” 
—JOHN 1:47. 


Ny anne is a type which is happily not 
unknown to us even in these days. He stands 
essentially for the man who has the rare faculty of 
combining an interest in the world that now is, and 
in that which is to come, and doing it without cant 
or hypocrisy. He is one who, while engaged in 
the affairs of the market-place, can yet keep a space 
railed round, not the burial place of dead hopes 
sacred to the memory of higher things, but a quiet 
retreat, where the spirit can be refreshed, and the 
dust of the days be removed from the eyes so that 
they may not lose their power of vision. He does 
not degenerate into sickly sentimentality, so that 
healthy-minded men feel a natural repugnance at his 
other-worldliness. On the contrary, while they may 
not agree with his views, while they may think of 
him good-naturedly as no man’s enemy but his own, 
they are yet impressed by his singularly sane atti- 
tude towards life, and are even more impressed by 
his genial and gentle spirit. “ 
Such a man, as we conceive him, was Nathanael. 
He was the man of firm faith in spiritual things, 


who while peace-loving and lacking in those self- 
115 


116 The Master and the Twelve 


assertive qualities sometimes supposed to be essen- 
tial to success, was yet immovable when a question 
of principle arose: a man of quiet dignity and un- 

doubted strength of character} The house of his 
- soul had a window looking out on the dusty street 
with its toiling crowds and its chaffering commerce; 
it had also a window that commanded the sky, and 
just as Daniel prayed with his casement open to- 
ward Jerusalem, and Habakkuk mounted his spir- 
itual watch-tower to hold communion with Jehovah, 
so Nathanael lifted his eyes from the things of time 
and sense to those which are unseen and eternal. 

Such men are the salt of the earth. Their temper 
and devotion make for purity and ennoblement. In 
every age Christ needs the staunch and spiritually- 
minded who will add the weight of their influence 
to the teaching of His evangel, and who, by the 
consistent brightness of their faith, will, like the 
harbour lights flinging their welcoming beams in 
prodigal silver across the surging seas, show where 
the tempest-tossed may find eternal anchorage. 


NATHANAEL’S CALL TO DISCIPLESHIP 


presents some difficulty, for though the incident is 
plainly recorded, there is no mention of him among 
the Twelve except in the Fourth Gospel, while 
there is another named in the lists of the other 
writers, Bartholomew, of whom John never speaks. 
What is the inference? It is scarcely likely that 
John, who details the call of Andrew and himself, 
of Simon Peter, James, and Philip, would give so 
much notice to Nathanael if he were simply a pri- 
vate friend of Philip and nothing more, and so in 


Nathanael, the Devout aire 


common with others who have given the matter 
careful consideration, we assume the identity of 
Nathanael with Bartholomew. ‘The reasons for 
this may be stated. {In the Fourth Gospel Bar- 
tholomew is never mentioned, though Nathanael is 
referred to twice, while in the Synoptics, and in 
the names of the disciples in the Upper Room after 
the resurrection, Bartholomew is placed in every 
case next to Philip, while Nathanael’s name is not 
to be found. The probability, therefore, is that 
Bartholomew was the patronymic or surname, and 
that both names indicate the same man. This iden- 
tity is further supported by the fact that Philip and 
Bartholomew are mentioned together in every list 
of the Apostles which the records give. After that 
memorable event, which would be burnt in on 
Philip’s memory when Jesus called him to the way 
of discipleship, Philip made his way to his friend. j 
“Philip findeth Nathanael,” is a simple statement 
which conveys much. We have already noted 
Philip’s cautious methods of procedure. He had 
passed through an experience that had moved him 
profoundly, and if it were true that this were indeed 
the Christ, he wanted to share his discovery with 
Nathanael. The man of prudence and the man of 
piety had much in common. Doubtless the coming 
of the Baptist had been discussed frequently by 
them, and the possible advent of the Messiah had 
impelled Nathanael to more diligent study of the 
prophecies relating to that event. That he had al- 
ways been a man who loved the holy writings goes 
without saying. Great spirituality and prayerful 
vigilance are never far removed from reverent re- 
gard for the Scriptures. But the quiet spirit of 


118 The Master and the Twelve 


Nathanael had found little in the vehement Baptist 
to appeal to him, and the outspokenness of the 
preacher, together with the inevitable bitterness on 
the part of the Pharisees, had caused a turmoil for 
which Nathanael’s guileless heart had no liking 
whatever. Moreover, in the dust of controversy, 
as is so often the case, the facts were obscured. 
There was much heat and little light. Hence, Na- 
thanael felt that if he were to find a solution for 
the problems confronting him, he must have re- 
course to the word of God rather than to the words 
of men. | 

Philip’s quest proves that he was acquainted 
with both the man and his habits. ‘The fact that 
he found Nathanael under the fig tree suggests that 
he knew exactly where to look for him. Few were 
familiar with this retiring and secluded soul, but 
probably fewer still were familiar with his retreat. 
Philip knew, and having first ascertained that Na- 
thanael was not in his house, he would go straight 
to the quiet place under the trees where Nathanael 
spent so many hours in prayerful meditation on the 
divine Scriptures. ‘Why under the fig tree? This 
suggests much. First, it was daytime, when the 
tiny one-roomed house would be filled with the 
bustle of domestic duties, and if he were to obtain 
the quiet needed to pore over. the sacred page, he 
must seek seclusion elsewhere. But then, while the 
bright sunshine allures most of us out of doors, to 
the oriental the sun meant blistering heat with its 
attendant glare and discomfort, and so he sought 
this leafy sanctuary where he could commune with 
God. ,; 

Yet we may ask again, why in the daytime? Was 


Nathanael, the Devout 119 


he one of the privileged classes who “‘toil not neither 
do they spin”? That is ruled out when we remem- 
ber that he was a friend of Philip. We suggest that 
there is NS another clue to the singular piety of 
Nathanael. The probability is that he was engaged 
in the fishing industry like several of the others, 
nor is this mere conjecture. After the disastrous 
close of our Lord’s ministry, when some of the dis- 
ciples resolved to return to the old life, forsaking 
the hot city with its plotting priests for the spray- 
laden breezes and the simple life of the lake, Na- 
thanael was one of them. “Simon Peter saith unto 
them, I go a-fishing. They say unto him, We also 
go with thee.’ Who were ‘they’? ‘Thomas, 
Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, 
and two other of His disciples.” If Nathanael 
were engaged in this craft it follows that the day- 
time was his only chance of leisure. If he, there- 
fore, were out with the boats during the night, he 
must have been devoting time to the pursuit of 
his investigations regarding the Messiah that should 
have been spent in sleep., Or if, on the other hand, 
as seems possibly more in keeping with this gentle 
‘soul, he were engaged in some other occupation 
than the strenuous life of the sea, it may be that 
he was interested in marketing the fish. This 
would entail rising at daybreak, when the boats 
came in, but by the afternoon, he would be free to 
follow his own bent. Be that as it may, we find 
a man who could fill his place in the world and yet 
be deeply religious—a combination which, we are 
assured by some, is very unusual—and what is 
more, Nathanael was able to mingle with men and 
yet retain his pure-hearted loyalty to God.) 


120 The Master and the Twelve 


Nathanael was the prototype of the souls of 
whom Keble sings. There are some gifted lives 


é¢ 
o 


. . in this loud stunning tide 

Of human care and crime 

With whom the melodies abide 

Of th’ everlasting chime: 

Who carry music in their heart 

Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, 
Plying their daily task with busier feet 
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.” 


NATHANAEL’S CHARACTER AS A DISCIPLE 


When Philip discovered his friend beneath the 
shady branches, it was, as he expected, to find him 
deeply wrapped in thought. Probably the portion 
of the Scriptures he had been studying lay across 
his knees as the footstep of his friend fell upon 
his ear. He looked up to see a curious light in 
Philip’s face. ‘‘We have found Him, of whom 
Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write. It 
was not strange that Philip should put it in this 
way. Moses had declared that “the Lord thy God 
will raise up unto thee a prophet from the midst 
of thee, ‘of thy brethren,) like Junto (me. “ie 
prophets had borne witness to the same truth, each 
from his own standpoint, differing according to the 
varying revelation. One had conceived the Mes- 
siah as a great king, who should rule the people 
with equity. Another had emphasised His wise gov- 
ernment, and had added title to title—‘‘the Won- 
derful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlast- 
ing Father, the Prince of Peace’’—to describe His 


Nathanael, the Devout 121 


glorious attributes. Yet another had seen Him as 
dignified and yet so humble that He would ride into 
His capital not with the glittering cavalcade, the 
military splendour of a ruler who conquered by force 
of arms, but upon the peaceful ass, as though He 
would lay siege to men’s souls by the sweet assaults 
of love. 


INTENSELY SPIRITUAL 


Nathanael longed as only the righteous could for 
that glorious day when the Messiah’s reign would 
commence. |Guileless himself, he detested the un- 
scrupulous ways of the worldling, and felt his soul 
sicken at the hypocrisy and hollowness of so much 
that passed for religion. That would account for 
his deep interest in all the prophecies that pointed 
to that new era. But the more he read, the less he 
seemed to understand. It is comparatively easy for 
us in the light of the Christian revelation, to relate, 
the apparently conflicting qualities of the Christ.) 
We know that He manifested traits of character 
that seem in themselves irreconcilable, and yet they 
blended in one perfect whole. ‘There never was 
such humility stooping to the lowliest life, nor yet 
such kingly dignity; such love poured forth lib- 
erally as the gushing waters of a mountain spring, 
and yet such hatred of pretence and iniquity; such 
tenderness to the polluted, yet such unqualified con- 
demnation of that which pollutes; such holiness and 
exaltation of character, and yet such a merciful 
identification of the saintly with the sinful. In a 
nobler and larger sense than SHEA E ever in- 
tended, we can say: 


122 The Master and the Twelve 


“He only, in a general honest thought 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle, and the elements 
So mixed in him that Nature might stand up 
And say to all the world, “This was a man!’ ” 


Nathanael lived in the dim light of Judaism. He 
could interpret only imperfectly, and relate only 
partially, the varying concepts of Christ which the 
writings gave. Yet though what the rabbis taught 
carried him only part of the way in his quest for 
truth, he searched the Scriptures diligently for him- 
self. His Bible was his one book. Like the 
Bereans of a later day, he tested things by the 
Word of God, and while, man of prayer as he was, 
he spoke to his Maker beneath the fig-tree’s shade, 
he there waited in meditation on the prophets’ pages 
that God might in turn speak to him. 


DEVOUT IN TEMPER 


Nathanael was also a man of well-founded con- 
victions. He had thought long on these matters. 
It is true, that in his case, this brought some nar- 
rowness with it, though it were better to have a 
stream confined by its banks so that it runs deep to 
the ocean than to have mere breadth so that the 
waters become a stagnant swamp. Depth and 
breadth denote development, and that came to him 
as time went on. 

From what we have adduced we expect to find 
Philip’s statement challenged. He put the matter 
to his friend with some degree of caution and re- 
serve, as though inviting question, and Nathanael 
was a man of far too settled opinions about these 


Nathanael, the Devout 123 


things to be easily swayed from the direction to 
which his thinking pointed. Indeed he may have 
detected the hesitancy in Philip’s manner, and the 
word ‘Nazareth’ at once put him on his guard. 
He knew the Scriptures too well to be lured aside 
by any such novel theory. Nazareth? “Can any 
good thing come out of Nazareth?” 

Nathanael was right in that. Although so many 
had written of the Messiah, no mention was made 
of Nazareth. He was to come of the royal Davidic 
line, and Bethlehem was to be the place of His 
birth, but there was no word about the little provin- 
cial town where He 


cé 


. wrought 
With human hands the creed of creeds 
In loveliness of perfect deeds 

More strong than all poetic thought.” 


Besides, not only was the weight of prophetic wit- 
ness against Philip’s declaration, but there was also 
prejudice born of preconceived ideas of what the 
Messiah would be. Nathanael could not be ex- 
pected to anticipate the glorious self-eflacement of 
the Son of God, nor could he conceive such sublime 
lowliness of life that was in itself a title to true 
nobility. And again, prophet and poet, saint and 
seer, had longed for the fulfilment of God’s prom- 
ise, yet they had passed on without the gladness 
of fruition. Philip had exercised considerable cau- 
tion by consulting Nathanael for confirmation of 
his own beliefs; he could not complain if Nathanael 
in turn showed some hesitation about accepting such 
a stupendous truth. 


124 The Master and the Twelve 


But now the matter could be put to the test. 
Philip was not disposed to commit himself further. 
He said, in effect, ‘‘Do not take my word alone. I 
profess no ability to argue the point, for thou art 
better versed in the Scriptures than I, but come and 
see!’? And surely, that is the way to settle difh- 
culties of faith. So many men are content to take 
the word of others about Christ, rather than by 
careful study of the Gospels and by personal com- 
munion with Him to make His acquaintance for 
themselves. [hey are content to remain on the 
fringe of a faith that can bring added strength to 
character, yielding peace of heart, and infinite en- 
richment of life. They justify their indifference or 
doubts by the example of some dubious life which 
has used the cloak of religion to cover the untended 
sores of the leprous soul. Yet men do not condemn 
all banknotes because they have seen a counterfeit; 
the spurious is positive proof of the value of the 
genuine note. So it is not by the Christian who 
may fall far short of his own ideals in spite of con- 
tinued striving, still less is it by the man who makes 
profession of a faith he never possessed, that Christ 
is to be known. First-hand acquaintance results in 
friendship. 


IMPASSIONED WHEN CONVINCED 


Nathanael proves our point. He went at once to 
the Master, and all his dubiety took flight. “Be- 
hold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile.” 
Such was Christ’s comment. He read the inner- 
most soul of Nathanael, as He reads the souls of 


all. 


Nathanael, the Devout 125 


“Thy kind but searching glance can scan 
‘The very wounds that shame would hide.” 


There is evident surprise in Nathanael’s tone as 
he asks, ‘‘Whence knowest Thou me?” He had 
come to form an opinion of this reputed Messiah, 
and instead he is greeted with the Messiah’s opinion 
of him. And what an opinion! ‘Too often we think 
of the Divine omniscience as a thing from which to 
shrink. ‘There is a certain feeling of awe inspired 
by the words, “All things are naked and laid open 
before the eyes of Him with whom we have to do,” 
and the thought that “Thou God seest me’’ has 
awakened too often more fear than faith, more 
dread than devotion. H.G. Wells makes this con- 
fession: “I who write was so set against God thus 
rendered. ... I thought of Him as a fantastic 
monster perpetually spying, perpetually listening, 
perpetually waiting to condemn. . . . He was over 
me and about my feebleness and silliness and for- 
getfulness as the sky and sea would be about a child 
drowning in mid-Atlantic. When I was still only 
a child of thirteen by the grace of the true God in 
me, I flung this lie out of my mind.” 


*fAh, God is other than we think; 
His ways are far above 
The height of reason, and are reached 
Alone by childlike love.” 


‘It is perfectly true that Christ reads the heart 
as none other can, and true that He knows the 
worst about men, but it is a glorious fact that He 
also knows the best about them. He sees their 
latent capacity for fine service and heroic living. 


126 The Master and the Twelve 


He witnesses the constant war they wage against 
evil tendencies, and He is swift, yea, none swifter, 
to commend and encourage by His appreciative 
words. While there is wonderful mercy for those 
who have sinned against the light, and restoring 
grace for the wayward prodigal, there is also sub- 
lime faith in the powers of the soul that has evaded 
many of life’s pitfalls. Christ is full of compas- 
sion for the soiled soul of the street, and His pity 
must have been stirred again and again by the spec- 
tacle of misused gifts. Describing Sidney Carton, 
the brilliant yet dissolute young lawyer, Charles 
Dickens says: “Waste forces within him, and a 
desert all around, this man stood still on his way 
across a silent terrace, and saw lying in the wilder- 
ness before him, a mirage of honourable ambition, 
self-denial, and perseverance. . . . A moment, and 
it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber, in a 
well of houses, he threw himself down in his clothes 
on a neglected bed, and its pillow was wet with 
wasted tears. Sadly, sadly the sun rose; it rose 
upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities 
and good emotions, incapable of their directed exer- 
cise, incapable of his own help and his own happi- 
ness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning 
himself to let it eat him away.” 

If Dickens felt what he thus wrote, Christ must 
have felt more acutely than words can express, the 
tragedy of wasted talents. But that same compas- 
sionate sensitiveness meant also keen appreciation 
of the unsullied soul, the life lived in the light. 
Fence the value of such a man to the apostolic 
company. 

Nathanael’s impassioned utterance can be ex- 


Nathanael, the Devout 127 


plained only by his intuitive sense of Christ’s sub- 
limity. It says much for the discernment of a de- 
vout soul that he who had been so non-committal 
regarding the validity of Christ’s Messianic char- 
acter, should give voice to such a declaration, 
‘Rabbi, Thou art the Son of God; Thou art the 
King of Israel.’’ It says even more for the impres- 
sion produced by the personality of Jesus. Was it 
merely because the unusual had occurred, and that 
his secret soul had been read by Christ that he 
spoke in this way? He was to have greater cause 
for faith. The sincere, guileless one, who had 
striven to live up to his light, should have more 
light. That is the Divine way. ‘To every one 
that hath shall be given, and he shall have abun- 
dance: but from him that hath not shall be taken 
away even that which he hath.” There is nothing 
unfair about this principle. On the contrary, it is 
manifestly just. The servant in our Lord’s parable 
had so used his five talents that he doubled them. 
He was worthy of larger opportunities because he 
had used so wisely those already enjoyed. It was 
the man who had left his talent buried in the earth 
from whom it was taken. In the Mammoth Caves 
of Kentucky there is a stream which flows there in 
the darkness, and strangely enough fish abound 
in it. But although they have the place for eyes, 
they are bereft of sight. Nature has taken away 
what in those waters of perpetual blackness would 
be useless, and the fish are blind. Use or lose seems 
to be the law of the spiritual world as well as the 
natural. Nathanael had used the light that came 
from the incomplete revelation of God’s purpose, 
and because he had ordered his life aright, because 


128 The Master and the Twelve 


he had made the Word a lamp unto his feet and a 
light unto his path, he emerged from the cavernous 
ways of the old dispensation to the high plateau on 
which shone the radiance of the Sun of Righteous- 
ness. 


NATHANAEL’S CONTRIBUTION TO DISCIPLESHIP 


This is dificult to determine, for no details are 
available. Only twice—here in the first chapter and 
again in the last chapter of the Fourth Gospel—are 
his activities mentioned. And yet we know enough 
to suggest what his part would be during those 
three years and in subsequent times. Such a man 
would create an atmosphere of practical piety in 
which the fair fruits of the Spirit would ripen fast. 
He would still remain the unobtrusive, meditative 
student of spiritual things, pondering the winsome 
words of the Master, and possibly, because of his 
keen susceptibility and retentive memory, contribut- 
ing much material, when, in later years, a written 
record of Christ’s words was begun. But this is 
indisputable: his spirit and noble temper would 
raise the tone of the Iwelve, making for a larger 
measure of peace and good-fellowship than other- 
wise might have been the case. 

Jerome K. Jerome has instanced the influence of 
such a man. A stranger arrived one day in a 
Bloomsbury boarding-house. No one knew whence 
he came or who he was, but from the first evening 
he made his presence felt. He spoke no word of 
religion. He did not indulge in criticism of the 
coarse-fibred people about him. But he seemed to 
have touched a secret spring in their breasts. Petty 


Nathanael, the Devout 129 


meannesses that every one had practised unblush- 
ingly became impossible. The harsh word was left 
unspoken, and the unworthy thing left undone. 
Why? Not one of the boarders could have put it 
into words, except that unconsciously they began to 
strive to merit his good opinion, and to live up to 
his high estimate of their personal character. In 
three months, the whole tone of the house was 
altered. Nor must this be explained away simply 
as an imaginary situation created by a brilliant 
novelist. It is what we have all experienced. We 
have met men and women in business who have 
wielded a similar influence. When they were about, 
we found it easier to do what was right, harder to 
do the mean or dishonourable thing. They seemed 
to radiate sunshine. ‘They set a high standard for 
their own lives, and instinctively we found ourselves 
not only accepting that standard as admirable in 
itself, but also felt impelled to live up to it. Such 
a fine, saintly soul as Nathanael would have a 
similar effect on his fellow apostles. Nor is that 
all. He exemplifies: 


THE VALUE OF VIRTUE 


even when it is not accompanied by brilliant gifts. 
He did no great deed; he did not distinguish him- 
self by either oratory or organising ability. We 
have no record of moving speech or thrilling hero- 
ism. But if his gifts were not brilliant, his life was. 
He reflected the glory of his Master, commending 
the Gospel by his quiet devotion to everything 
good, and by the consistent conduct that indicated 
his force of character. His worth is proved by the 


130 The Master and the Twelve 


fact that Christ called him to be one of His inti- 
mate friends. His guileless nature held no secret 
chambers where unworthy ambitions lurked, waiting 
to seize every opportunity for self-advancement. 
He had no ulterior motives, and because he had 
been faithful, the fuller light was given to him. 


Prejudices born of imperfect understanding of the | 
facts melted like the wreathing mists of the valley. | 


Nathanael had used the lamp of God’s word 
when there was no apparent possibility of the divine 
promises being fulfilled, when his pure soul grew 
sad at the spectacle of duplicity and hypocrisy in 
the professed leaders of religion, and it guided him 
till the Christ came. We are reminded of Robert 
Louis Stevenson’s story of his boyhood. He and 
his companions used to take bull’s-eye lanterns, and 
buckling them with their belts under their coats, 
they would set off on all manner of adventurous 
expeditions. The light was wholly obscured, but in 
the dark it was something to know that each car- 
ried his lantern with him. ‘The true-hearted Chris- 
tian has a lamp like that. It is the lamp of hope. 
Though the night be dark about him, yet he knows 
that he has only to do his part: to plod persistently 
on, and eventually the sun will shine. 

Browning seems to have had a similar idea in 
mind, for he sings: 


“If I stoop, 
Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud, 
It is but for atime. I press God’s lamp 
Close to my breast. Its splendour 
Soon or late will pierce the gloom; 
I shall emerge one day.” 


Nathanael, the Devout 131 


From that lamp, the flame of love—for God and 
for mankind—will shine forth, cheering other be- 
nighted souls by its ray. 


THE POWER OF THE PURE-HEARTED 
Tennyson’s young knight could sing: 


“My strength is as the strength of ten 
Because my heart is pure,” 


and such words fit the character of this guileless 
Apostle. ‘An Israelite indeed’—there was none of 
the trickery and sharp practice of Jacob, the unre- 
generate, in Nathanael, and while there were tend- 
encies in some of the Twelve to seek preferment in 
the Master’s kingdom, there was only the pure 
white flame of love in Nathanael’s soul. He had 
thrown in his lot with Christ not for what he might 
gain from such a course, but with the uncalculating 
choice born of a great affection, without stopping 
to analyse motives, or counting the cost. Although, 
as we have said, no great deed can be attributed to 
him, we may yet regard him as one who preferred 
to be rather than to do—to be known for his quiet 
devotion to the highest than for his dashing exploits 
or stirring deeds. But these are positive, not nega- 
tive qualities. ‘‘Blessed are the pure in heart,” said 
Jesus, ‘‘for they shall see God.” It is evident from 
that glad recognition of the Messiah’s glory which 
leapt to Nathanael’s lips as he looked into Christ’s 
face, that this promise was in some measure antici- 
pated. As the Son of God He stood as the revealer 
of the Father; as the King of Israel He embodied 


132 The Master and the Twelve 


the Messianic ideal. Confronting the devout Na- 
thanael was the very Christ whom not having seen 
he had loved and longed for, and to those powers 
of perception he already possessed came the prom- 
ise of larger light. ‘Hereafter ye shall see heaven 
open, and the angels of God ascending and descend- 
ing upon the Son of Man.” 

Such is the character of Nathanael, the devout. 
What power a man like him can wield! To be sus- 
ceptible to spiritual impulses without losing any- 
thing of sagacity or strength, to be devout and at 
the same time to be diligent in daily duty, to be true 
to the past and yet to be progressive as light in- 
creases—that is the kind of man to whom Christ 
can entrust fuller opportunities and a larger sphere 
of service. We commend him to the thoughtful as 
worthy of emulation. Given sane, strong, spirit- 
ually-minded men guiding the affairs of State or of 
business, there would be an appreciable raising of 
tone in every direction. Old injustices and tyran- 
nies of which the world is weary, but which it has 
not the means to shake off would be abolished, and 
the Gospel would again prove itself to be the power 
of God unto salvation. Devoutness plus devotion 
would bring the world nearer to the heart of God 
than it has yet been. 


Vil 
MATTHEW, THE MAN OF BUSINESS 
“As Jesus passed forth from thence He 


saw a man, named Matthew, sitting at 
the receipt of custom: and He saith unto 
him, Follow Me.” 

—MATTHEW 9:9. 


HE call of Matthew, the publican, while pre- 

senting some features in common with that of 
the other Apostles, yet marks a new departure. At 
least three of them had some preparatory religious 
experience, and two had been in contact with Christ 
before the summons that separated them from daily 
toil came to them. Andrew and John after that 
first evening with Jesus would find it comparatively 
easy to obey the call when it came, and though the 
other six were of plebeian origin, they were respect- 
able members of society, engaged in honourable if 
arduous callings. Matthew stood in dark contrast 
to them all, but as a picture painted only in the 
primary colours would be garish and crude in the 
extreme, as it is essential that the subdued and even 
the sombre shades should be introduced in order to 
give it balance and relief, thus Christ called this 
man into the privileged circle that not only might 
the catholicity of His church be demonstrated, but 
also that it might be proved for all time that none 


in whom the work of grace has begun, no matter 
133 


134 The Master and the Twelve 


what his antecedents, should be denied equal stand- 
ing. ‘Thus the call of Matthew marked an epoch. 


MATTHEW Was A MAN OF A DIFFERENT IYPE 


To regard him simply as a government official, is 
misleading. He was that. Rome had conquered 
the Jewish nation, and she had asserted the privi- 
leges of the conqueror, not only making the van- 
quished help to pay for the conquest, but also to 
contribute to the cost of keeping themselves under 
the yoke. So taxes were levied upon Palestine by 
the imperial power, and Matthew was one of those 
who had secured a position in the civil service. 
Now it can be quite plainly seen that for one who 
enjoyed a fairly secure and lucrative place, Christ’s 
call to discipleship involved a good deal. ‘There 
was the satisfaction of an assured income to which, 
by a measure of craft and an anesthetised con- 
science, certain considerable additions might be 
made, and whatever may be said, that offered a 
more pleasant life than the hardships and precarious 
livelihood of fishermen. But if it were harder for 
Matthew to obey that call, it were surely still 
harder for Christ to giye such a man a place among 
His chosen friends. ' Dr. A. B. Bruce has said: 
‘The call of Matthew signally illustrates a very 
prominent feature in the public action of Jesus, 
namely, His utter disregard of the maxims of 
worldly wisdom. A publican disciple, much more a 
publican apostle, could not fail to be a stumbling- 
block to Jewish prejudice. . . . Yet while perfectly 
aware of this fact, Jesus invited to the intimate fel- 
lowship of disciplehood one who had pursued the 


Matthew, the Man of Business 135 


occupation of a tax-gatherer ... like One who 
knew that His work concerned all nations and all | 
ue e's at 
time. 
Thus Matthew belonged to a despised class, and 
the reason for the stigma attaching to his office is 
not far to seek. These officials were not appointed 
directly by the government, neither were the rates 
which were levied definitely fixed. On the contrary, 
the raising of revenue was sublet to financiers who, 
while undertaking to secure a given sum for the ex- 
chequer, were allowed to use their own methods of 
collecting the money. It was recognised that they 
were not rendering such service and taking the risk 
for love, except love of money, and so some margin 
was allowed to these public-spirited men who were 
willing to help Rome to collect her dues. For the 
most part, they were themselves Romans, and they 
did not relish the task of getting money from the 
foreigner. But there were others with inherited 
financial instincts, who like Jacob, their ancestor, 
were not too particular about these matters, and 
who could secure the desired end without being too 
scrupulous about the means. Consequently, the con- 
tracts were again sublet to members of the Jewish 
community, and this was the root of bitterness. For 
love of gain, these men sacrificed patriotism and 
principles. ‘Chey ranged themselves on the side of 
the oppressor, and became in turn oppressors of 
their own countrymen, for human nature being what 
it is, when they were incited to be unscrupulous in 
the cause of their employers, they were not slow in 
feathering their own nests. 

Matthew was a tax-gatherer, and in common with 
his class, he had probably taken advantage of his op- 


136 The Master and the Twelve 


portunities. He had become an outcast from decent 
society. He had forfeited the respect of honest 
men, if not of himself, and in addition, he had found 
it no difficult matter to stifle conscience and to resort 
to the tricks of his trade. An honest tax-gatherer 
was almost a contradiction in terms. ‘he law was 
in his own hands, and he could extend its require- 
ments almost at will. In short, he found it to his 
interest to live up to the reputation men gave him, 
and he became a dishonest, untruthful rogue, whose 
rapacity was conditioned only by the rateable value 
of the merchants who brought their goods into the 
province. Possibly too much may be argued from 
these generalisations. “There were good and bad 
in most crafts, it is true, and Matthew may have 
been the exception that proves the rule. ‘That is, 
however, scarcely likely, for although the other 
Evangelists name him as one of the apostles, it is 
only in his gospel that he describes himself as ‘‘Mat- 
thew, the publican.”’ It is as though he were admit- 
ting the truth of all that term connotes so that he 
might show more fully the magnanimous Master 
who called him from his place of sordid money- 
making. But be that as it may, we are confronted 
with a man with a past, a man who had certainly 
sided with the alien conqueror against his own peo- 
ple, and who had lost caste in consequence. 

/ All this would not make it any easier for him to 
join the circle of the Twelve. What kind of recep- 
tion might he expect? Would they not look ask- 
ance at him? Although they themselves were of the 
people, this man was one who had voluntarily sided 
with the common foe and who had shut himself off 
from everything honest and honourable. Why, then, 


Matthew, the Man of Business 137 


did Christ choose a man like Matthew? That our 
Lord knew the type of man he was goes without 
saying. He read that sinful soul as fully as He had 
previously read the heart of the guileless Nathanael. 
What did those pure eyes see in Matthew? There 
is only one answer. Christ called him, not because 
he was a man with a past, but because he was a man 
with a future. In that poor, stunted life, the Saviour 
saw potential greatness. 'The very wording of the 
passage is suggestive of this: “He saw a man, named 
Matthew, sitting at the receipt of custom.’’ While 
others looked on him with the indignant eyes of the 
trader who had been robbed by exaction, or with 
the scornful gaze of the patriotic Jew who saw only 
the toll-booth with its iniquitous extortion, Jesus 
saw a man.| [There is a beautiful legend that bears 
on Christ’s capacity for seeing the beautiful. A dog 
lay dead in the gutter of an eastern street, and the 
boys who were looking at it, were joined by two or 
three loiterers. It was a pitiable object, one of the 
pariahs of the city, and it was unlikely that the 
sympathy denied it in life would be bestowed on it 
now. ‘Filthy beast,’’ said one. “Look, he has lost 
an eye.’ “And see how his ear has been torn in 
fighting,” said another. ‘Skin and bone, and his 
hair all matted,” remarked a third. A stranger had 
also stopped to look, and hearing these comments, 
he said, ‘“‘Yea, but look how white and even are his 
teeth. Even pearls could not shine with greater lus- 
tre.’ He passed on. ‘‘Who is that?” asked the 
first speaker. ‘‘Why, you know him. It is Jesus, 
the Galilean.’ 

Perhaps, in Christ’s judgment, this tax-collector 
had been forced into this ignoble task by pressure 


138 The Master and the Twelve 


of circumstances. It is so easy to condemn, so dif- 
ficult to make allowance for the mistaken course of 
others. Only those who have been the victim of 
life’s happenings, or who have grown almost des- 
perate under the bludgeonings of fate, can be pitiful 
when they look on the tragedy of wasted gifts or the 
misuse of talents. Francis Thompson, that strange, 
sorrowful son of the world, could write of things as 
they are because he was flung into contact with the 
flotsam and jetsam of London. He describes the ~ 
city thus: 


“A region whose hedgerows have set to brick, whose soil 
is chilled to stone; where flowers are sold and women; where 
the men wither and the stars; whose streets to me on the 
most glittering day are black. For I unveil their secret 
meanings. J read their human hieroglyphs, I diagnose from 
a hundred occult signs the disease which perturbs their popu- 
lous pulses. Misery cries out to me from the kerb-stone, 
despair passes me by in the way; I discern limbs laden with 
fetters impalpable, but not imponderable; I hear the shak- 
ing of invisible lashes, I see men dabbled with their own 
oozing life.” 


Christ did not condone the evil courses of this man, 
but He saw what others had missed: the possibili- 
ties of such a soul when once the work of grace had 
commenced. That is why Christ wanted him. 


MATTHEW Was A Man oF DIFFERENT 
TEMPERAMENT 


("Before the call came to Matthew, the Master had 
returned to Capernaum, where He had evidently 
made His quarters for a time. He was already 


Matthew, the Man of Business 139 


well-known in the town, for in Luke’s narrative 
treating of this period, he says: “Great multitudes 
came together to hear, and to be healed by Him of 
their infirmities.” Amid the crowd, or perhaps 
standing on the edge of it, there was one whom 
every one knew, but whom no one wanted to know. 
He had, however, no eyes for the scornful looks 
turned on him. He was entranced by the Master 
in the midst. When Christ spoke, it seemed to 
Matthew that the message was addressed not so 
much to the multitude, as to one man, and that 
was himself. He saw his own life, as it were, 
stripped naked of all its excuses and self-justification, 
and the spectacle of his own black soul stood before 
him like an accusing figure. 


“A silent court of justice in his breast, 
Himself the judge and jury, and himself 
The prisoner at the bar, ever condemned ; 
And that drags down his life.” 


None knew the effect produced by this Divine 
Teacher on the tax-gatherer of the city except the 
Master and Matthew, and few would suspect him 
of anything more than casual curiosity when they 
saw him there. As he went back to his work, he 
would laugh at his own impressionableness, and 
strive to thrust aside his scruples when later on 
some untutored peasant or protesting merchant fell 
into his clutches. Yet there was a fatal fascination 
for him in the Nazarene. He could not refrain 
from listening again and again to His matchless 
wisdom, nor could he banish the tones of that voice 
nor the tender look of that face when he returned 


SSPE | 


140 The Master and the Twelve 


Ralph Connor relates the impression made by the 
young minister who had been trying to conduct a 
service among the wild ranchers of the West. It 
had been a failure, but undaunted by the opposition, 
that earnest young soul said to the schoolmaster, 
“It’s true! I feel it’s true! Men can’t live without 
Him, and be men!’” The other felt the intense 
conviction and the courage of the man, and he wrote, 
“Long after I went to my shack that night, I saw 
before me the eager face with the luminous eyes, 
and heard the triumphant cry, ‘I feel it’s true! Men 
can’t live without Him, and be men!’” Such an 
experience must have been Matthew’s as the words 
of Christ came back in the silence of the night, and 
the events of subsequent days deepened the impres- 
sion, still further preparing the way for the call to 
discipleship. 

Matthew’s memories of those days may well be 
trusted. A paralysed man was brought to Jesus, 
and out of that arose the controversy about His 
power to forgive sins. The Master had said, ‘‘Son, 
be of good cheer: thy sins be forgiven thee,’”’ and 
at once the Scribes accused Him of blasphemy. 
Blasphemy, because He had spoken in this way? 
He took up their challenge. Which was easier, to 
speak forgiveness to this man’s soul, or to give 
power to his paralysed body? Christ waited for 
the answer to His question, while the crowd looked 
interestedly on the contestants. Then seeing that 
no reply was forthcoming, our Lord said to His 
critics, with the stricken sufferer lying before Him, 
‘That ye may know that the Son of man hath power 
on earth to forgive sins (then saith He to the sick 


Matthew, the Man of Business 141 


of the palsy), Arise, take up thy bed, and go unto 
thine house.”’ 

The multitudes marvelled, but Matthew mused 
on this new demonstration of Christ’s power with 
growing conviction. If this Teacher could forgive 
sins, and could give strength and deliverance to one 
so helpless, was it not possible that He could do 
something for the self-weary, sinful soul of a tax- 
gatherer? ‘The question circled in Matthew’s mind. 
He had almost resolved to put the matter to Christ 
Himself, and yet—it might mean giving up every- 
thing. | Could he earn a living in any other way? 
Who would give employment to a tax-gatherer? 
He was worse than a dog! Perhaps, by and by, 
when he had saved more, he would be able to give 
up the position which had seemed agreeable enough 
until this hour, but which now, almost in spite of 
himself, he hated. Give up his work just because 
these old spectres had been stirred? No; it seemed 
ridiculous! He; the successful swindler, the man 
of such fine money-making capacity, abandon a post- 
tion of comparative affluence for penury? If he 
were in more congenial circumstances, he might well 
consider the religious life, but it did not seem rea- 
sonable that he should forfeit everything for which 
he had worked and schemed. 

There is no battlefield where the struggle is more 
fierce or where the tide of victory between contend- 
ing forces ebbs and flows with such uncertainty as 
on the field of the soul, and we can well believe that 
Matthew felt that those trustful eyes of Christ, 
looking across the crowd, searched the depths of 
his being, and as a torch held aloft in a cavern re- 


142 The Master and the Twelve 


veals the horror of the lurking darkness, and the 
unspeakable terror of its abysmal gloom, Matthew 
saw the vile recesses of his heart. Like voices in 
that cavern, giving rise to echoes that rang and 
reverberated through dim terraces and ghostly 
arches, Christ’s words kept recurring to his mind, 
calling him to surrender to the good, and yet pru- 
dence seemed to check such a step. After all, he 
was a man of business. He had to view things in a 
practical way, and .:. We are’ reminded” of 
Scrooge’s remonstrance when Marley visited him 
that night, bidding him seek the better way. “But 
you were always a good man of business,. Jacob!” 
To which the shade of Jacob Marley replied, Iift- 
ings its cumbrous chain, ‘Business! mankind was 
my business. The common welfare was my busi- 
ness; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence 
were all my business. The dealings of my trade 
were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean 
of my business!” 

| However, the hour of deliverance struck. When 
Christ came by and summoned Matthew to follow 
Him, there was immediate obedience, because, as 
we have suggested, the matter had already been 
weighed for some time, and this was the deciding 
factor. Jesus spoke to the better self, and it was 
as though the divine finger pressed a secret spring 
in the soul. | Lowell sings: 


“Be noble! and the nobleness that lies 

In other men, sleeping but never dead, 

Will rise in majesty to meet thine own; 
Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, 
Then will pure light around thy path be shed, 
And thou wilt nevermore be sad and lone.” 


Matthew, the Man of Business 143 


In the fullest sense it was so with our Lord, and 
Matthew felt the impact of that mighty personality 
upon his striving soul. The flood of pent-up feel- 
ings at last broke loose, carrying everything before 
it. [he supposed prudence which bade him take 
heed how he jeopardised his livelihood, was flung 
aside. Christ who had set the paralysed free from 
his hampering bonds had wrought a similar gracious 
work in the soul of Matthew, and he now exulted 
in a freedom which he had never before thought 
possible. 

We can see the look of keen joy in his face, and 
almost hear the sigh of relief as he left the toll- 
house and the sordid business in which he was en- 
gaged. The beginnings of the Christian life are 
supposed by some to mean the end of all that gives 
rise to gladness and hope, but as John Masefield 
has shown in The Everlasting Mercy, the conver- 
sion of Saul Kane, the poacher-roué, was truly the 
birth hour of delight and joy. 


“T did not think, I did not strive, 

The deep peace burnt my me alive; 

The bolted door had broken in, 

I knew that I had done with sin. 

I knew that Christ had given me birth 

To brother all the souls on earth, 

And every bird and every beast 

Should share the crumbs broke at the feast. 


The station brook to my new eyes, 
Was babbling out of Paradise; 

The waters rushing from the rain 
Were singing Christ has risen again. 
I thought all earthly creatures knelt 
From rapture of the joy I felt.” 


144 The Master and the Twelve 


Matthew’s experience was similar. This hour 
was the greatest he had ever known, and he must ex- 
press his gratitude in some tangible way. A simple 
feast was prepared, and the Master was the hon- 
oured Guest. But there were others, and it is a 
pitiful sidelight on Matthew’s life that those who 
were bidden were largely tax-gatherers and other 
outcasts. The reason was that these were the only 
friends he possessed, and it plainly demonstrates 
the depths to which he had sunk in plying his trade. 
He had been found at business, but he had almost 
been lost there; Christ’s compassion and faith in 
him were his salvation. But there were other rea- 
sons for this feast, as well as a celebration of his 
deliverance from what had become a hateful bond- 
age. He was giving his erstwhile friends an oppor- 
tunity of meeting the Master for themselves, per- 
haps in the hope that similar blessing might come 
to them. He was openly declaring himself on the 
side of Christ; and what is more, he was definitely 
committing himself to the new life. Just as Elisha, 
when called to the prophetic office, slew the yoke of 
oxen with which he had been ploughing, and with 
the wooden implements kindled a fire and made a 
feast for his friends, so Matthew pledged himself 
to the service of the Master. 
por We may be sure that Christ never graced a more 
‘congenial board, for with these hapless souls about 
Him, He was meeting needs that lay near to His 
great heart. But in spite of that, there were some 
who levelled their arrows of venom against Him and 
His associates. The Pharisees lodged their protest 
with the disciples against the unseemly conduct of 
their Master, thus eating and drinking with out- 


Matthew, the Man of Business 145 


casts of disreputable character, and deeply though 
Jesus must have felt the unwarranted criticism, it 
called forth that expression of love which has been 
of immeasurable comfort to sin-sick souls: ‘They 
that be whole need not a physician, but they that are 
sick. . . . | am not come to call the righteous, but 
sinners to repentance.” { Moreover, He commends 
the course Matthew had pursued. It was indeed a 
time of rejoicing. If the return of the Prodigal de- 
manded the killing of the fatted calf, and filling the 
evening hours with mirth, this too justified rejoicing. 
Here was one who had risen from the depths of de- 
spair and defilement. He had seen the glimmering 
of hope shining like the morning star in his sky, and 
he could not but be glad. So, in spite of the carp- 
ing critics, Matthew embarked on his new course 
with deeper happiness because he had tried to share 
the blessing that had come to him. 


MATTHEW Was A MAN oF DIFFERENT 
‘TALENTS 


Just as he was of a different type from the dis- 
ciples already called, his gifts were of another order. 
He was a man of disciplined and developed powers. 
Admittedly, he had misused those powers, but at 
least he was a man of sagacity and skill. He 
was destined to use them now in the highest of all 
service. He was versed in the affairs of the market- 
place, and understood men as few of his associates 
in the Apostolate could. He was less likely to wait 
for an “inspiration” than some of the others, 
for he had learned the lessons of daily drudgery— 
a school that can teach much that is of the first im- 


146 The Master and the Twelve 


portance in practical efficiency. Kingsley says: 
“Thank God every morning when you get up that 
you have something to do that day which must be 
done whether you like it or not. Being forced to 
work and forced to do your best will breed in you a 
hundred virtues which the idle never know.” 

In the dust of daily life, we sometimes fail to see 
the sublimity of common things, and the opportuni- 
ties with which the place of service is enriched. 
Many a quality is developed there which otherwise 
might lie dormant, or at any rate remain but partly 
utilised. Goethe says: “Talent develops itself in 
solitude; character in the stream of life.” Even 
though Matthew had not progressed far in the moral 
realm, he had, nevertheless, learned how to turn to 
account the powers he possessed. That is some- 
thing. To become sagacious and far-seeing, to be 
able to keep calm in the crises that come in every 
life, and to utilise our gifts to the full, may mean 
the beginning of better things. Where can patience, 
courage, self-reliance and loyalty to principle, be 
tested more than in the great sphere of the world’s 
work? These qualities are developed only under 
dificulty, and if we remember that life is one great 
educative opportunity, in which valuable lessons are 
taught and by which character is shaped and 
strengthened, we shall be brought to the way of 
blessedness. Henry Drummond has said with splen- 
did discernment: ‘‘Ledgers and lexicons, business let- 
ters, domestic duties, striking of bargains, writing 
of examinations, handling of tools—these are the 
conductors of the eternal. . . . No man dreams in- 
tegrity, accuracy and so on. He cannot learn them 
by reading about them. These things require their 


Matthew, the Man of Business 147 


wire as much as electricity. . . . A workshop, there- 
fore, or an office, or a school of learning, is a gigan- 
tic conductor. An office is not a place for making 
money—it is a place for making character. A 
workshop is not a place for making machinery— 
it is a place for making men: not for turning wood, 
for fitting engines, for founding cylinders—to God’s 
eye, it is a place for founding character; it is a place 
for fitting in the virtues to one’s life, for turning 
out honest, modest-tempered, God-fearing men. A 
school of learning is not so much a place for making 
scholars, as a place for making souls. And he who 
would ripen and perfect the eternal element in his 
being will do this by attending to the religious duties 
of his daily task, recognising the unseen in its seen, 
and so turning three-fourths of each day’s life into 
an ever-acting means of grace.” 

Matthew was not the first to receive the Divine 
call to nobler service in the place of daily toil. While 
Moses tended the sheep of Jethro, his father-in-law, 
in the deserts of Midian, he saw with wondering 
eyes the burning bush, and heard Jehovah call him 
to that great enterprise. While Gideon threshed 
his wheat down by the wine-press, the summons to 
valiant service as the deliverer of his people smote 
on his ear. Saul seeking his father’s asses, met the 
prophet who had come to anoint him King of Israel, 
just as later on David found the path that led to 
power began as he went on an errand to his brothers. 
In the Invalides in Paris there is a series of mosaics, 
illustrating the valiant life of Joan of Arc. The 
first shows her, a peasant girl in Domremy, with her 
sheep about her, but an angel stands behind whisper- 
ing in her ear. ‘The message is almost incredible. 


148 The Master and the Twelve 


She was to become the deliverer of France. Un- 
skilled though she was in warfare, she should lead 
the languishing army of the people to further ef- 
fort, firing them with new purpose, and enabling 
them to conquer both their fears and their foes. 

The summons to_finer service came to Carey at 
his cobbler’s bench, and to Livingstone at the loom. 
It led Washington from the sylvan seclusion of 
Mount Vernon, and Lincoln from his lawyer’s office, 
that both might fill a larger place. One might al- 
most apply the words of Christ’s parable to such 
men: ‘“Thou hast been faithful over a few things, 
I will make thee ruler over many things.’’ But we 
cannot all leave the place of daily duty as these men. 
It is not always necessary that we should; in fact, it 
may be essential that we should not. If we rightly 
realise that it is meant to be not the place of servi- 
tude, but of sonship, then sublime possibilities leap 
to challenge the best that is in us. ‘There, as per- 
haps in no other place, we may not only develop 
our powers and strengthen our spiritual life, but we 
may also wield an influence for good that is far- 
reaching. ‘To be known for our sterling character, 
our fidelity, our scrupulous honour, is to glorify 
Him who has called us into discipleship. The in- 
consistent and unworthy follower has wrought im- 
measurable mischief. But it is equally true that the 
sincere, striving Christian man or woman is able to 
bear an irrefutable testimony to the grace of God. 
The former may condemn religion, but the latter 
commends it. 

Nor is that all. There is a place for the gifts of 
the business man in Christ’s service. Matthew, as 
we have pointed out, brought his ability as an organ- 


Matthew, the Man of Buseness 149 


iser and a systematic worker, to employ his powers 
in the highest way. ‘It is true, as Dr. Alexander 
Whyte says, ‘““When Matthew rose up and left all 
and followed our Lord, the only thing he took with 
him out of his old occupation was his pen and ink.”’ 
The allusion is‘to the fact that subsequently Matthew 
wrote the Gospel which bears his name, recording 
something of the Master’s work. But surely he also 
brought his ability to use that pen, and though no 
mention is made of his work, his part in organising 
the early groups of Christians would be invaluable.} 
Similar service is required by the Church to-day. 
Because a man cannot lead in prayer, or teach in the 
Sunday School, his gifts not lending themselves to 
this kind of work, there is no reason why he should 
remain inactive. There are sound reasons why he 
should be active. How vital the need is for capable, 
conscientious work on the business side of Church 
life is apparent to any who have given the matter 
thought. Church finance ought to be the forte of 
men who are accustomed to the demands of com- 
merce, and without introducing the commercial 
spirit, the finances of religious work could be placed 
on a business footing. Instead of wearisome appeals 
for money, there is a better way. Instead of the 
minister, who ought to be God’s prophet, having to 
dissipate his energies in raising funds, there should 
be a committee of capable business men who would 
relieve him of this, and who would see that due pro- 
vision were made both for current expenses and for 
depreciation, as every business insists upon as nec- 
essary. Consequently, there would be increased 
efficiency in the work of the Church, with diminished 
friction and without so much of the unnecessary 


150 The Master and the Twelve 


wear and tear which militates against fullest success. 

When men of Matthew’s ability have given their 
service to the Church in this way, it has grown in 
influence and effectiveness. Consecrated accountancy 
and sanctified system are gifts that Christ can utilise. 
In this way, the minister has been enabled to give 
himself whole-heartedly to his task, which is funda- 
mentally spiritual. Freed from the fret and harass- 
ments of finance, and liberated from the adminis- 
trative side of his church, he has climbed the sunlit 
slopes where the Highest unveils His glory, and re- 
turning as Moses did to the assembled multitude, 
his face radiant with heavenly light and his voice 
vibrant with inspiration or comfort for the people 
committed to his care, he has rendered his greatest 
service to the world. Sir William Robertson Nicoll, 
the biographer of Dr. John Watson, quotes him as 
saying on one occasion, ‘‘Never can I forget what 
a distinguished scholar who used to sit in my church 
once said to me, ‘Your best work in the pulpit has 
been to put heart into men for the coming week.’ 
Fiwish J had!\put\imore..\. Ta now, clearlymcer 
every sentence should suggest Christ, and every ser- 
mon, even though His name had not been mentioned 
nor His words quoted, should leave the hearer at 
the feet of Christ.”’ 

How can this ideal be realised? First by that 
noble conception of the preacher’s office which Dr. 
Stalker gives: “A congregation is a number of 
people associated for their moral and spiritual im- 
provement, and they say to one of their number, 
‘Look, brother, we are busy with our daily toils and 
confused with domestic and worldly cares; we live in 
confusion and darkness; but we eagerly long for - 


Matthew, the Man of Business 151 


peace and light to cheer and illuminate our life; and 
we have heard there is a land where these are to 
be found—a land of repose and joy, full of thoughts 
that breathe and words that burn: but we cannot go 
thither ourselves; we are too embroiled in daily 
cares: come, we will elect you and set you free from 
our toils, and you shall go thither for us, and week 
by week trade with that land and bring us its treas- 
ures and its spoils.’’’ ‘The writer then goes on to 
say, ‘Woe to him if he does not week by week re- 
turn laden, and ever more richly laden, and saying, 
‘Yes, brothers, I have been to that land; and it is a 
land of light and peace and nobleness: but I have 
never forgotten you and your needs and the dear 
bonds of brotherhood; and look, I have brought back 
this, and this, and this: take them to gladden and 
purify your life.’ ” 

But if the moorings that hold the vessel to the 
administrative side of the work are never loosed, 
how can the minister make that voyage? If, how- 
ever, he is liberated as we have suggested, his vessel 
not unduly laden with details of organisation, so 
that its capacity for bringing back a precious cargo 
can be used to the fullest extent, then we believe 
there will be a corresponding increase in the enrich- 
ment of life and the efficiency of his work. To this 
view of the ministry; we would add the necessity for 
an equally exalted conception of the function of the 
business man whose place in the ranks of the disciples 
was made plain by Christ when he called Matthew. 
This combination of the man of practical affairs and 
the man of prayer, of financial ability and fidelity 
to Christ’s kingdom, will make for finer and more ef- 
fective work in and through organised religion. 


152 The Master and the Twelve 


This distribution of effort will make for concentra- 
tion on the main purpose which our Lord set before 
His followers, and the blessings of His sovereign 
rule will become more rapidly the possession of the 
race. 


Vill 
THOMAS, THE RATIONALIST 
“Except I shall see ...I will not be- 


lieve.” 
—JOHN 20:26. 


“The evil that men do lives after them, 
The good is oft interréd with their bones.” 


F no one is this truer than of Thomas, for 

while he is perhaps better known than some of 
the Twelve, he is known only for his faults. His 
most familiar designation is that of Thomas, the 
doubter. He demonstrates the fact that a bad name 
often haunts a man like his shadow. If we look for 
Thomas’s failings, we shall find them, but there is a 
finer side to his character. He had qualities that 
made him worthy in Christ’s eyes of a place in the 
Apostolate, and it is our aim to discover the dis- 
tinctive contribution that Thomas made. 

We find in the Synoptic Gospels, that he is simply 
one of the Twelve. He isa name and nothing more. 
Yet he must have been something of an enigma 
to the others who were so level-headed and matter- 
of-fact, and his proneness to ask questions and to 
seek explanations would not meet with much sym- 
pathy from one like Peter, for instance. If Mark’s 
Gospel enshrines Peter’s memories of the Master, 
we can understand why there is no mention of 


Thomas’s spiritual difficulties, for the practical, im- 
153 


154 The Master and the Twelve 


petuous Peter, who was more concerned with action 
than reflection, with deeds than debates, would look 
with little favour on a mind that wanted to know 
the rationale of everything. Though he must have 
been familiar with the incidents which followed the 
death of Christ, he evidently saw no reason why he 
should give prominence to such vain demands for 
proof of the resurrection before faith was possible. 

‘ Matthew may have omitted it for other reasons. 
Thomas and he are named together in the lists of 
Apostles, and it is possible that the two were friends. 
If that were so, that might be sufficient explanation 
for leaving unrecorded an incident that was painful 
in itself, and which might also cast some doubt on 
the reality of Christ’s resurrection. Matthew knew 
that the questions raised had been satisfactorily an- 
swered because the Master was there to deal per- 
sonally with them, but others might be bereft of 
faith, were unbelief on the part of an Apostle to be 
noised abroad. Moreover, one who had felt the 
wondrous condescension of Christ in calling a pub- 
lican to be a disciple could not but be sensitive about 
anything that might cast an aspersion on His claims 
to be the risen Saviour of the race. 

Luke, on the other hand, was a man of fine temper 
and generous judgments, and even granting that he 
had heard of the temporary paralysis of faith suf- 
fered by this disciple, as a medical man he could 
make allowance for him, considering the shock he 
had sustained. At any rate, it was a purely per- 
sonal matter between Christ and Thomas, and what- 
ever the mistake made, it had been finely atoned for 
in the end. 

Why then should John put it on record? It cer- 


Thomas, the Rationaltst 155 


tainly was not that he, the beloved disciple, was 
anxious to enhance his own reputation at the expense 
of another. It is rather that, being a man of intui- 
tion himself to whom the truth came by swift-winged 
couriers, he desired to show that there were others 
who, dominated by the intellectual, must seek truth 
in their own way. They needed explanations for the 
stupendous facts of faith, and Christ could satisfy 
the most exacting questioner providing he were sin- 
cere. Therefore the Fourth Gospel is the only one 
which tells how Thomas sought for a reasonable 
basis for belief, and how his doubts were dispersed 
by the radiance of the Light of the world. 

When we look at the portrait of Thomas, we are 
inclined to regard him as rather 


A DESPONDENT DISCIPLE. 


There is a cause for every effect, although we may 
be unable to trace it. Suppose Thomas were a man 
who did not enjoy good health—and there is nothing 
improbable in the supposition considering “‘the heart- 
ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is 
heir to’’—or suppose he were a man who had found 
life difficult and sometimes disappointing, would not 
that affect his whole outlook? If he had previously 
sustained some loss that left him stunned and shaken, 
we can readily understand the feelings that welled 
up in his soul when Christ was taken from His 
friends. But this is certain, Thomas was far re- 
moved from the bluf, hearty, buoyant fishermen in 
the Apostolic company. He was a thinker, quiet 
and reserved. Many a time, when the others were 
arguing about something the Master said, or were 


156 The Master and the Twelve 


comparing notes about the happenings of the day, he 

had gone out alone, with the silent stars for com- 

pany, to ponder over what he had seen and heard. 

Emerson says: “Beware when the great God lets 
| loose a thinker on this planet. ‘Then all things are 

at risk as when a conflagration has broken out in a 
| great city, and no man knows what is safe or where 
tit will end.” 

Some lives are built of prosaic material. There is 
an element of greyness or even of gloom that cannot 
be eliminated. ‘They boast no gorgeous mosaics or 
finely carved panelling, no richly storied windows 
nor stately architecture. They are but plain, unpre- 
tentious dwellings though they may house fine souls. 
Subdued, self-critical, depreciating even his good 
qualities, there would be a marked tendency to find » 
a kindred spirit, and we therefore suggest that Mat- 
thew, because he had good grounds for humility and 
restraint in that he had for so long been a member 
of a despised class, would be the most intimate friend 
Thomas had among the disciples. 

That Thomas was a man of moods goes without 
saying. Though we may not expect to find him often 
ecstatic, there were times when he felt the exhilara- 
tion of being with Christ. It was impossible to live 
in fellowship with such a Master, to see the beauty 
of that life, and to hear the matchless wisdom that 
fell from those lips without being impelled to essay 
the heights on which he lived, and without breath- 
ing the invigorating air of those altitudes. But on 
the other hand, there was always the danger of re- 
action, and if, as we have suggested, Thomas had. 
met with adversity or had suffered from ‘“‘the slings 
and arrows of outrageous fortune,” there would be 


Thomas, the Rationalist 157 


times when he would doubt his worthiness, and 
would accuse himself of basest hypocrisy in remain- 
ing among the Saviour’s friends. One day he might 
feel that he could face the world alone. The next 
day, he could not face his own unworthy self, but 
would almost start at his own shadow. Yet he had 
known exaltation of spirit. Although we have no 
information about the event, there came that call 
which took him from the routine of daily toil, and 
made him one of the Twelve. It was both chal- 
lenging and convincing—challenging, for he had felt 
he must obey; convincing, for he had been assured 
that it was right to leave all and follow Christ. 

He had fluctuated between certainty and uncer- 
tainty, and possibly had been the object of a good 
deal of criticism from his fellow disciples, but there 
is at least one instance of this doubter being a man 
of daring, and though it may be little to go on, at the 
same time it reveals Thomas in an unsuspected light. 
When word came to our Lord that His friend Laz- 
arus was dying, Christ intimated His intention to go 
to Bethany. ‘There was something sinister in the 
very word. Dull-witted though the disciples had 
sometimes proved, they were sufficiently in touch 
with public opinion to know that their Master had 
grown very unpopular with the religious leaders, and 
it is possible to read between the lines and to note 
the evident consternation His decision evoked. But 
one voice spoke clearly among the confused counsels 
of that moment. It said, “Let us also go, that we 
may die with Him,” and the disciples could not have 
been more surprised than we to note that it was 
Thomas who thus urged the chivalrous and coura- 
geous course. 


158 The Master and the Twelve 


There was, then, a fine side to this sometimes de- 
spondent character. He must have been a man of 
deep convictions thus to suggest taking his stand 

_ beside Christ in the possible dangers that a return 
to the neighbourhood of Jerusalem entailed, for this 
is the courage not of the hot-headed and impetuous, 
but of reasoned allegiance to the highest. But if 
that be so, it is surely the more puzzling to find him 
later so hard to convince regarding the resurrection 
of the Lord, and so obstinate in his demands that 
he must put his finger into the print of the nails, 
and thrust his hand into the wounded side. Why 
was he so unbelieving? His apparent unbelief is 
proof of what faith in Christ had meant to him. 
His following had not been lightly undertaken. He 
had felt his soul swayed by that call, and having 
first satisfied himself that this was indeed the long- 
awaited One, he had abandoned all to that quest. 
For a time, though doubts had presented themselves 
to his mind, he had been able to triumph over them 
and to justify the sacrifices he had made. But when 
the blow fell, when he saw his Master led away by 
the armed band and handed over to the foes whom 
He had previously worsted in every encounter, when 
he saw that poor mangled body taken down from 
the cross and laid in a tomb to which charity had 
made Him debtor, the fabric of faith which Thomas 
had been slowly rearing toppled to the earth, and he 
felt himself to be utterly bereft. 

rew “Some doubt who desire to believe,” says Dr. 

a “Nay, their doubt is due to their excessive 

anxiety to believe. They are so eager to know the 
very truth, and feel so keenly the immense import- 

_ ance of the interests at stake, that they cannot take 


Thomas, the Rationalist 159 


things for granted, and for a time their hand so} 
trembles that they cannot seize firm hold of the | 
great objects of faith—a living God; an incarnate, 
crucified, risen Saviour; a glorious, eternal future. 
Theirs is the doubt peculiar to earnest, thoughtful, 
pure-hearted men, wide as the poles asunder from 
the doubt of the frivolous, the worldly, the vicious: 
a holy, noble doubt, not a base and unholy; if not to 
be praised as positively meritorious, still less to be 
harshly condemned and excluded from the pale of 
Christian sympathy—a doubt which at worst is but 
an infirmity, and which ever ends in strong, un- 
wavering faith.” apne 
It was as though the sun had been blotted out 

from the midday sky. Every one who has wan- 
dered amid the mountains knows just what this 
means. The day has been bright as you set out. 
You crossed the river and passed through the village 
that nestled at the foot of the range, promising 
yourself that when once the peak was gained, a fine 
view would repay you for the effort. Half way up, it 
may be that you stopped to regain breath, and looked 
back over the track. There in the distance was a 
band of silver ribbon: that was the river. The white 
dots in the field were the cattle you passed. The 
wisp of smoke’ showed where the cottages were as 
you passed along the quaint, cobbled street. But 
even as you looked, a bank of cloud overspread the 
face of the sun. A chill swept the mountain. And 
ere long the mists came down, swathing you about 
with a gauzy veil that left you guessing both dis- 
tances and direction. Sight does not take us all the 
way through life, no matter how sagacious we may 
be. Faith is indispensable. Everything had gone— 


160 The Master and the Twelve 


conviction, courage, Christ. To regard Thomas as 
a man who indulged doubts merely for the pleasant 
sensation of being different from others, or posing 
as an intellectual, is to misjudge him grossly. He 
might have asked: 


‘Where is the blessedness I knew 
When first I saw the Lord? 
Where is the soul-refreshing view 
Of Jesus and His word?” 


Thomas had succumbed to the force of cruel cir- 
cumstances, and we cannot be surprised if he were 
hard to convince when the rest tried to reassure him. 
Still he was more than a despondent disciple, for 
he was 


A DETERMINED DISCOVERER OF THE TRUTH. 
Shakespeare has finely said: 


“Our doubts are traitors 
And make us lose the good we oft might win 
By fearing to attempt.” 


But he had not abandoned the attempt altogether. 
He was so stunned by the events of those days that 
he could not take in the story with which his friends 
sought to comfort him. He had heard of the resur- 
rection of the Lord, but on their own admission, 
the news the women brought had been regarded by 
the disciples as idle tales. He had probably wan- 
dered away, far from the city with its bustle and 
noise, plying its trade as though nothing had hap- 
pened, just as though a common malefactor and de- 


Thomas, the Rationalzst 161 


ceiver of the people had met with his just reward. 
But the sorrowful heart of Thomas had passed | be- 
yond the stage when it could feel resentment. ° All 
he knew was that he had found One who had spoken 
to the soul within’ him as no other man had ever 
done. He had felt his being pulsating with new life 
as he shared such companionship, and now, aspira- 
tion lay dead. He cared nothing for the curious 
gaze of some who may have recognized him as a 
follower of the Nazarene; if there were any danger, 
he was past caring. He roamed the quiet hills, and 
sat disconsolate in some of the rocky ravines, re- 
turning only when he could endure the solitude no 
longer. And to be greeted with the news that the 
Lord had actually visited His friends, and had 
spoken to them words of encouragement and cheer, 
was more than the anguished heart could stand. 


Fad he not been fighting the battle alone all through 


the day? Had he not turned those cryptic sayings 
over and over in his mind, recalling that last con- 
versation in the Upper Room? ‘The Saviour had 
said that He was going away to prepare a place for 
them. That was unusual enough, for when the occa- 
sion had arisen before, He had sent two of the 
disciples to prepare that very place in which the Pass- 
over had been eaten. The remainder of the band 
had not apparently seen anything remarkable in this, 
but Jesus had also said, “If I go and prepare a place 
for you, I will come again, and receive you unto My- 
self that where I am, there ye may be also. And 
whither I go, ye know, and the way ye know.” It 
was then that Thomas had broken the silence. 
“Lord, we know not whither Thou goest; and how 
can we know the way?’ The answer was more 


Wetec 


162 The Master and the Twelve 


puzzling still to the thoughtful mind. “I am the 
way, the truth and the life.” 

Doubter! Unbeliever! Sceptic! If only those 
who hurl these epithets at the unconvinced could 
sometimes understand the agony through which a 
soul which would fain believe and cannot must pass, 
they would be more charitable. William Penn, him- 
self a great believer, must have known at some 
period of his Christian experience the need for such 
sympathy, for he says: ‘The greatest understand- 
ings doubt most, are readiest to learn, and least 
pleased with themselves. For though they stand 
on higher ground, and so see farther than their 
neighbours, they are yet humbled by their prospect, 
since it shows them something so much higher and 
above their reach.” 

‘a When therefore Thomas was greeted with the 
words, ““We have seen the Lord,” he felt that he 
must know before he could accept their glib state- 
ment. ‘Seeing is believing!’’ He had to be con- 
vinced before he could take their word for it. It was 
not that he wanted to excuse his incredulity, nor 
justify his scepticism. Faith was far too vital a 
matter to be treated lightly or to be excluded if it 
| were possible to believe. Perhaps he blamed him- 
\ self that he had believed too readily before. At 
‘any rate, he would have proofs now ere he gave 
credence to the astonishing intelligence that the 
Lord had risen. “Except: I shall see in His hands 
the print of the nails, and put my finger into the 
print of the nails, and thrust my hand into His side, 
I will not believe.’ In vain they tried to reason with 
him. Was it not his own fault that he had been ab- 
sent when the Saviour came? If he had not been 


Thomas, the Rationaltst 163 


so moody and sceptical, he would have found proof 
for the facts they submitted to him. It is easy 
thus to apportion blame till we remember that 
Thomas was more eager to believe than he was to 
doubt, but till the darkness could be dispelled from 
his sorrowful eyes, faith was impossible. 

It has been pointed out by a profound thinker 
that Thomas’s inability to accept the disciples’ testi- 
mony “‘did not proceed from unwillingness to believe. 
It was the doubt of a sad man, whose sadness was 
due to this, that the event whereof he doubted was 
one of which he would most gladly be assured. 
Nothing could give Thomas greater delight than to 
be certified that his Master was indeed risen. This 
is evident from the joy he manifested when he was 
at length satisfied. ‘My Lord and My God!’ that 
is not the exclamation of one who is forced reluct- 
antly to admit a fact he would rather deny. It is 
common for men who never had any doubts them- 
selves to trace all doubt to bad motives, and de- 
nounce it indiscriminately as a crime.” 

There is a poignant passage in the life of Pro- 
fessor Huxley. He had been appointed to one of 
the Royal Commissions, and during their enquiries, 
Huxley found himself with some of the other mem- 
bers of the Commission spending Sunday in a small 
country town. “I suppose you are going to church,” 
he said to one of them. “What if you stayed at 
home instead and talked to me about your religion?” 
“No,” replied the other, “I am not clever enough 
to answer your arguments.” “But what if you 
simply told me of your own experience, of what re- 
ligion has done for you?” ‘The man assented, and 
through the whole morning he talked of what he 


A 


| 


164. The Master and the Twelve 


had seen and known of Christ’s power in his own 
life. Presently Huxley said, with tears welling un- 
bidden to his eyes, “I would give my right hand if 
I could believe that!” “If I could believe that 

.’ ‘Then there was the “will to believe” in that 
soul, just as it was there in the heart of Thomas. 
Perhaps neither of them was as fortunate as Tenny- 
son’s friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, of whom he 
wrote: 


“He fought his doubts and gather’d strength, 
He would not make his judgment blind, 
He faced the spectres of the mind 

And laid them: thus he came at length 
To find a stronger faith his own; 
And Power was with him in the night, 
Which makes the darkness and the light, 
And dwells not in the light alone.” 


Though the arguments of the Apostles were as 
futile as their reproaches, Thomas had not aban- 
doned his search for truth. The light had not come, 
but he felt that it would surely be his if this were 
not simply a story born in minds deranged by a great 
sorrow. But he must come to the truth in his own 
way. He must continue his perilous path through 
the cavernous depths of scepticism till at last he 
found the daylight glimmering through the exit of 
his prison cave, and perhaps for one of his tempera- 
ment, who must have reasons for the faith that is in 
him, it was the only way. He was still the deter- 
mined discoverer of truth for himself, and because 
that was so, he came to that point where, if he had 
not discovered the light, the light discovered him. 
Then he became 


Thomas, the Rationalzst 165 


A DEVOTED DISCIPLE. 


Eight days had elapsed. It was a period of Pur- — 
gatory for him. Thomas was still unconvinced, but 
at least he had become more tolerant of the com- 
pany of his friends, for that evening, when Jesus 
came again, he was there with the rest. The word 
of greeting spoken to the company, our Lord turned 
to ‘Thomas and said: “Reach hither thy finger, and 
behold My hands, and reach hither thy hand, and 
thrust it into My side, and be not faithless but be- , 
lieving.”’ ni 

Christ takes a man at his word, and is willing to 
satisfy the honest enquirer even though the ques- 
tions asked might appear unnecessary. We can un- 
derstand the Master’s attitude. Just as He had 
told of the shepherd who could not be content with 
the sheep safe in the fold, but must needs go out into 
the night in search of the lost, so Jesus desired the 
restoration of this soul tortured by doubt. What 
was the effect on Thomas? He did not avail him- 
self of the opportunity thus afforded him of settling 
the matter. It was only then that he realised that 
his rationalism was irrational. His quest had been 
really not for facts but for faith, not for the truth 
about Christ, but for Christ Himself. With those 
sympathetic eyes upon him, with those hands out- 
stretched, bearing the prints of the cruel nails, 
Thomas felt all his questions were answered. He 
was convinced and prepared to doubt no more. The 
bonds that held him fast were severed. ‘The dark- 
ness of his prison-house gave place to the light and 
gladness of emancipation. With quivering lips and 
swimming eyes, he looked into the face of that 


166 The Master and the Twelve 


Christ whom he had loved even in the hour of his 
desolate doubt, and exclaimed, ““My Lord and my 
God!” 

We recall a day when, tramping through the 
rugged hills of Wales, the sun was hidden, and the 
mists lay thick in the valleys below. It was early in 
the morning, and it*almost appeared as though the 
shroud in which the previous day had died still lay 
on the land. But by and by, there were strange 
stirrings in the valley as the sun kissed it with his 
warm lips, and smiled benignantly on the dreary 
landscape. ‘The mists swayed and curled a little as 
though in contemptuous indifference, but they parted 
grudgingly here and there, till they vanished like 
a dream at the opening day. Soon the valley, the 
hill on which we stood, with the mountain range be- 
yond, shone clear in the golden light. The day had | 
indeed come, and the scenes which had been veiled 
from our eyes by that vaporous curtain lay in soft- 
ened splendour before us. So it was with the dark- 
ened soul of Thomas when the Sun of Righteousness 
flooded his life. He had passed through an unfor- 
gettable experience, but his quest was rewarded. 
What was hidden from him before now stood out in 
bold outline, for he had found the Way, the Truth, 
andthe dute, 
r“It is interesting to note that nothing he had heard 
about Christ from the lips of his fellow disciples 
had led him to this great conviction in which he re- 
joiced. It was contact with Christ Himself which 
had dispelled his doubts and delivered him from the 
torture of his scepticism. Herein is a truth of vital 
importance. Strong, warm-hearted discipleship can 
come only from personal experience of what Christ 


Thomas, the Rationalist 167 


is and can be to the human soul.) The Samaritan 
woman declared to her incredulous neighbors that 
she had found one who could read the unpublished 
records of her past, but while they came to Jesus 
simply out of curiosity, they went away with con- 
viction. ‘‘Now we believe, not because of thy say- 
ings; for we have heard Him ourselves, and know 
that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the 
world.” The history of great leaders reveals the 
fact that their power to command allegiance has de- 
pended on personal touch with their followers. 
Luther would not have received the support of his 
fellow-countrymen to the extent he did had it not 
been for their intimate knowledge of the man, and 
his sincerity of aim and strength of purpose. Savon- 
arola, Wilberforce and Wesley can be instanced in 
support of the same thing. The disciples had told 
Thomas what they had seen and experienced, but 
without much effect. The light of their testimony 
was too feeble to penetrate the opaque clouds that 
shrouded his soul, but when once he came into fel- 
lowship with the Lord Himself, everything was 
changed. He had found deliverance from the ter- 
rible weight that had crushed him down and made 
progress and peace impossible. 

The same thing is constantly happening. We need 
in these days to depend less upon the word of others 
and more on the fact of personal experience of 
Christ as the Saviour and Lord of life, and we urge 
that without in any sense diminishing the value of 
either the written or spoken witness of those who 
have tasted and seen that the Lord is gracious. On 
the contrary, it is their own personal knowledge of 
Christ which renders their testimony of the utmost 


168 The Master and the Twelve 


importance, but that only enhances the value of con- 
tact with Christ as the means to a virile and valor- 
ous faith. For at best, only a part of the soul’s ex- 
perience can be transmitted to others. Bernard of 
Clairvaux might have been expressing the feelings of 
Thomas when he sings: 


“Oh, hope of every contrite heart, 
Oh, joy of all the meek, 

To those who fall, how kind Thou art; 
How good to those who seek! 


“But what to those who find? Ah, this 


Nor tongue nor pen can show: 
The love of Jesus, what it is 
None but His loved ones know.” 


The cry that burst from Thomas, “My Lord and 
my God!” was from a surcharged heart, which like a 
mill-stream long pent in turgid inactivity behind the 
dam, suddenly finds the sluice gates open. Leaping 
joyously on its way, it finds not only freedom, but 
also the satisfaction of service, and the wheels of 
being begin to revolve once more. What followed 
this interview in which his doubts were dispersed, 
we are not told, but it is easy to believe that from 
that hour, Thomas would be a tower of strength to 
the Apostolate and to the Church. He had come to 
his faith only after mental suffering and at great 
cost, and that which costs much is often worth much. 
Some had never been tortured with questionings as 
he, but that rather than weakening his position, 
would give him added power when it came to dealing 
with the enquirers that in subsequent days sought 
eagerly to know the reasons for the new faith. He 


Thomas, the Rationalzst 169 


could understand their perplexities, and with a deep 
patience born of sympathy, he would be able to lead 
the hesitant and the halting along the paths that 1s- 
sue in light. 

But there is still another fact to be taken into ac- 
count. While his own difficulties had been removed 
by this personal interview with Christ, our Lord 
spoke a word to the others that was surely meant for 
the great company of would-be disciples in every 
generation. ‘Thomas, because thou hast seen Me, 
thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not 
seen, and yet have believed.”” A reasonable religion 
is desired by all men, but it must never be forgotten 
that there is always the need for faith, and that 
while ‘‘seeing is believing’ in the philosophy of 
Thomas, it is the not-seeing that is the strongest 
form of belief. Nor is that putting any premium on 
credulity. It is simply the recognition of spiritual 
facts as spiritual. We are finite at best. While it 
is perfectly true that we must use the powers of mind 
that God has given to us, it is equally true that those 
faculties may be inadequate when it comes to discern- 
ing fully the great facts of faith. On a clear star- 
lit night, the naked eye can see at most only about 
seven thousand stars, but with his mammoth tele- 
scope, the skilled astronomer can count twenty mil- 
lions. Are we then to dispute his findings, simply 
because our unaided powers cannot see what he 
sees? On the contrary, we have to admit that it is 
only that our sight is inadequate. So the finite may 
not grasp the infinite, and our mortal powers of 
reason may fail wholly to understand the mysteries 
of the resurrection. It is impossible to reduce some 
things to an exact formula, or to demonstrate them 


170 The Master and the Twelve 


in black and white. Who can explain fully or de- 
scribe in definite terms a mother’s love, the influence 
of one soul upon another, or the effect of a June 
evening, sweet with the songs of birds and heavy 
with the fragrance of a thousand roses? How then 
can it be thought possible to do it with Christian ex- 
perience? While there are certain definite facts that 
can be related and explained, there are other ele- 
ments in the believer’s contact with Christ that are 
vital, and yet which are beyond the power of reason 
to express or explain. ‘Then the rational mind must 
remain unsatisfied, wandering in tortuous ways of 
doubt without hope of light? Nothing of the kind. 
Where reason alone cannot pass, faith may press on. 
It is as though the soul had toiled up steep ways 
till it reached a glittering peak only to find that a 
great yawning ravine lay between it and the farthest 
point of its goal. It had used the staff of knowledge, 
and up to that hour had found it invaluable though 
now it was useless. But it spreads the wings of faith 
which before had not been called into play, and 
where reason with its slow-toiling feet failed, faith’s 
powerful pinions bear it far across the intervening 
barriers on toward the goal of peace and life. 

G. F. Watts, in his memorable picture, ‘‘Faith,” 
puts it another way. Faith is shown not as the con- 
ventional type of anemic eclecticism, nor of reflec- 
tive piety, but a figure arrayed in the classical robes 
of humanity. The feet are bleeding with long jour- 
neyings, for she had walked by faith, and not by 
sight. She holds her sword across her knees as she 
laves her feet in a wayside stream, washing from 
them the stains and blood of the way, and as she lifts 
her eyes from the seen to the unseen, she takes new 


Thomas, the Rationalest 171 


heart and courage for the battle of life, “enduring 
as seeing Him who is invisible.”’ ‘Blessed are they 
who have not seen, and yet have believed,” says 
Christ to the modern man. Reason is good up to a 
point, but when the physical powers suffer diminu- 
tion or the eyes grow dim with the tears of trial, the 
soul may yet remain strong in faith, unmoved by the 
storms of adversity and the buffeting seas of life, 
like the Eddystone lighthouse, founded on a rock 
and sending forth its radiant beam to guide other 
souls on the course that leads to the haven—the 
blacker the skies the brighter its light. 

Christ seeks to satisfy the intellect as well as the 
heart, but the fullest solutions of life’s problems are 
found not in argument or reasonings, but in personal 
faith in the Lord Himself. We remember being 
urged by some friends in Paris to visit without fail 
one of the most wonderful places in the capital, the 
Sainte Chapelle. We made our way to the church, 
with the glowing descriptions to which we had 
listened regarding its architecture and its unpar- 
alleled windows awakening keenest expectations, but 
at first we were doomed to disappointment. It was 
truly a fine piece of architecture, but it was much 
smaller than we had been led to expect, and instead 
of rapturously describing it as a poem in stone, as 
our friends had done, we were more inclined to call 
it a couplet. From the street the windows looked 
flat and colourless, and we entered with a resolve 
never again to be led away by the exuberant praise 
of the mere sight-seer. But when we entered it was 
impossible to describe the beauty of the scene. The 
morning sun shone with subdued splendour through 
the ancient glass, illumining each detail of face and 


172 The Master and the Twelve 


symbol till a feeling of awe overspread the heart. 
The colours were softly reflected by the marble and 
mosaics of the floor, and a sense of wonder left us 
almost unconscious of time or place. ‘Truly, the 
eloquent description that had led us there gave only 
_a hint of the majesty and glory of that little sanctu- 
' ary. Yet from without we had looked on it un- 
' moved! That was the whole explanation. The 
' beauty of the place could not be seen until we went 
| inside. 

It is not too much to say that that was akin to 
Thomas’s experience. Only in that hour when he 
entered into intimate fellowship with Christ did he 
realise that this was indeed both his Lord and his 
God; and only then did he apprehend the satisfying 
power of Christ. It is true of multitudes of others 
who have regarded Christ from afar, or have been 
content to try to understand Him and to gauge His 
power to bless the soul only from without. But 
once they have entered by faith into personal fellow- 
ship with Him, they have begun to see with other 
eyes the beauty of His character, the superb splen- 
dour of His life, and the sweetness of His redemp- 
tive love. Even though that experience may be 
theirs, it does not mean that they have sounded the 
depths of that mighty heart or scaled the altitudes 
on which the Son of God moved, any more than a 
brief visit to Sainte Chapelle can exhaust its 
beauties. But it does mean that as faith grows in 
power, so the knowledge of spiritual things will in- 
crease, and though an answer may not be found for 
all our questions, the soul becomes more ready to: 
wait till the time of unveiling shall give clear vision, 


Thomas, the Rationalist 173 


and when no longer we shall see in a mirror darkly 
but face to face. 

Thomas found a reasonable faith that stood him 
in good stead through life simply because he came 
into personal contact with Christ. We too shall 
find the same thing, faith taking the place of un- 
aided reason, and by bridging the centuries make that 
contact as real as that which the Upper Room made 
possible with the Living Lord. 

In those lines which have been of help to multi- 
tudes, Principal Shairp has summed the matter up 
for us: 


“T have a life in Christ to live, 
I have a death in Christ to die; 
And must I wait till Science give 


All doubts a full reply? 


“Nay, rather, while the sea of doubt 
Is raging wildly round about, 
Questioning of life, and death, and sin, 
Let me but creep within 
Thy fold, O Christ, and at Thy feet 
Take but the lowest seat, 
And hear Thine awful voice repeat, 
In gentlest accents, heavenly sweet; 
‘Come unto Me and rest; 


Believe Me and be blest.’ ” 


IX 
SIMON, THE ENTHUSIAST 


“Simon the Canaanite.’’—MARK 3: 18. 
“Simon Zelotes.”’—AcTS 1: 13. 


E all love an enthusiast. His flaming passion 

for the object he holds dear, his unquench- 
able courage, and his fiery devotion, make him an 
object of admiring interest, and it were surprising in- 
deed if there were no such ardent soul included in 
the Twelve. Yet Simon is one of the least known 
of the band. We have only the two names by which 
he is mentioned in the lists of the Evangelists to give 
us any indication of the man himself. When Shake- 
speare puts the question, ‘““What’s in a name?” we 
know perfectly well that his purpose is to prove how 
unimportant the name itself may be. If it were but 
the label attached to a gorgeous, fragrant rose, it 
were unnecessary, for the rose makes its own claim 
to our notice by the sweetness and symmetry of its 
life. The name in that case does not matter. But 
when we have nothing more than the name of this 
Apostle as the basis of our study, it is necessary that 
we should bestow the fullest attention on it. 

Simon is spoken of only four times in the New 
Testament, and not one incident is coupled with his 
name, nor a single deed attributed to him. ‘The two 
designations given to him, reveal him as a man of 


enthusiasm for reform, and they are worthy of no- 
174 


Semon, the Enthusiast PSS 


tice. He is described twice as the ‘Canaanite.’ 
Dr. Bruce has an interesting note on this. ‘He is’ 
called the Kananite (not Canaanite) which is a po- 
litical, not a geographical designation as appears 
from the Greek word substituted in place of this 
Hebrew one by Luke, who calls the disciple we now 
speak of Simon Zelotes. . . . This epithet Zelotes 
connects Simon unmistakably with the famous party 
which rose in rebellion under Judas in the days of 
the taxing, some twenty years before Christ’s minis- 
try began, when Judea and Samaria were brought 
under the direct government of Rome, and a census 
of the population was taken with a view to subse- 
quent taxation.’ Simon the Zealot was therefore a 
man with a record, for his passionate patriotism had 
brought with it considerable danger. ‘The reform 
movement headed by Judas of Gamala, to which 
Gamaliel refers in his eloquent speech before the 
Sanhedrin (Acts 5:34) after the Day of Pentecost, 
was suppressed by the ruthless hand of Rome. Its 
leader was executed, and its supporters were either 
killed or dispersed. But the fire was not stamped 
out. It still smouldered unobserved, ready to burst 
forth with renewed fury when some favourable 
breeze should fan its embers, and though the at- 
tempt to hasten the establishment of the Messianic 
kingdom had proved futile, there were some valor- 
ous souls who were only waiting for an opportunity 
to strike another blow for freedom. 

This was the type of man who found a place in 
the ranks of the Apostles. How he came to choose 
the meek and lowly Jesus in the place of the fiery, 
uncontrollable Judas remains a mystery, and yet one 
not wholly without explanation. Allowing for the 


176 The Master and the Twelve 


inevitable depression and reaction which would fall 
on such a vehement nature after the overthrow of 
his leader, Simon was too much of an enthusiast not 
to be on the alert for some like-minded soul who 
might become the rallying point for a new crusade 
against the hated invader and all his works. 


AN IDEALIST 


such as Simon might prove a very practical force, 
and being a man of strong convictions and power- 
ful influence, it is possible that he felt keenly the 
necessity for bringing together the scattered forces 
of patriotism, and by careful organisation and secret 
propaganda, securing the success that had been 
snatched from them before. At least, he had en- 
thusiasms that could not be quenched by reverses. 
The goal was too glorious. Though the sacrifice 
might be costly, the end was supreme. It was an 
idealist’s dream of a kingdom in which the purpose 
of God might be realised, and in which the Divine 
should be dominant. This aim was never far re- 
moved from the heart of the devout Israelite. In 
fact, it is difficult to see how it could ever be forgot- 
ten. God had called the people of Israel to share 
in blessings that marked them off from the rest of 
the human family up to that time. They were to be 
the medium of His mercy, the custodians of His re- 
vealed will for the race, and were to hand on to 
mankind a great and glorious heritage. He had 
given to them not only kings like David the daring, 
and Solomon the splendid, but also a definite prom- 
ise that another should be raised up of the royal line 
and of the increase of His government and peace 


Semon, the Enthuszast 177 


there should be no end. Simon had often conned 
the prophecies, for the mighty men of the past have 
been those well-versed in the promises of God, but 
as he looked at things as they ought to be, and at 
things as they were, he could not have been easy in 
his mind. Instead of peace there was turbulence; 
instead of contentment and prosperity, there was 
continual chafing under the yoke of an alien power; 
instead of justice and righteousness, there were petty 
injustices and cruel tyranny that made day hideous 
with its tales of extortion and night sleepless with 
desires that clamoured for fulfilment. 

‘With judgment and with righteousness” was the 
promised kingdom to be established, and what were 
the facts? Where was the ancient glory of the 
Davidic rule? It had departed like that of many 
another nation reared on a far less stable founda- 
tion. Over their national life it seemed as though 
an unseen hand had written “‘Ichabod’’—the glory 
is departed. Were the promises of God then with- 
out effect, and His plain decrees abrogated? It was 
unthinkable, and yet stern reality asserted itself. 
The majority of the Zealots may have been more 
patriotic than religious, but even those who were 
alienated from forms of religion by the shallowness 
and inconsistency of the professedly pious could not 
be indifferent to the steady decline of religion and 
its consequent reaction on the life of the people. 
The race seemed to be to the swift and the battle to 
the strong. ‘The old principles of right were dis- 
placed by those of might. The poor were openly 
robbed. Widows were despoiled of their possessions 
without redress. The hireling was oppressed in his 
wages, sundry deductions being made without war- 


178 The Master and the Twelve 


rant, or the bargain repudiated without any chance 
of bringing the fraudulent to book. Corruption was 
rife in civic affairs, and even the taxation imposed 
by the government was made the means of extortion. 
The worst of it was, as we have seen in our study of 
Matthew, certain renegade Jews had sold them- 
selves into the power of the oppressor, and their 
petty tyranny was more aggravating because of 
their open defection from the ranks of the people. 

This made the hearts of men like Simon as tinder 
before the sparks flung off from the vehement soul 
of Judas of Gamala, and though the leader had 
fallen, the flag must still be upheld until deliverance 
came. It was the sight of the corrupt upper classes 
and the crushed lower classes that kept even the 
scattered members of the movement true to their 
cause, and in the soul of Simon, to quote Professor 
Seeley, flamed that passionate devotion which was 
kindled by love—‘‘The love not of the race nor of 
the individual, but of the race in the individual .. . 
the love not of all men, nor yet of every man, but of 
the man in every man.” 

How were these ends to be achieved, these wrongs 
to be righted? To his honour be it said, Simon was 
not like Hamlet who in his well-known lament says: 


“The time is out of joint: O curséd spite, 
That ever I was born to set it right!” 


Nor did he abandon himself to the seemingly inevi- 
table. The fact that some ceased to care, that some 
were disheartened by the opposition of Rome, made 
ease a detestable and shameful course. They had 
fallen victims to circumstance, as Cowper finely says: 


Szmon, the Enthuseast 179 


“Lamented change! to which full many a cause 
Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. 
The course of human things from good to ill, 
From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. 
Increase of power begets increase of wealth; 
Wealth luxury, and luxury excess; 

Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague, 
That seizes first the opulent, descends 

To the next rank contagious, and in time 
‘Taints downward all the graduated scale 
Of order from the chariot to the plough.” 


So this kindled soul, knowing no peace and offering 
no quarter to traitorous thoughts, would turn again 
to those promises by which he had previously fed 
the flame of patriotism, and reading that “the zeal 
of the Lord of hosts will perform this,” recalled the 
fact that power must have an adequate instrument 
for its transmission, and that God works through 
responsive and obedient souls. He vowed anew to 
strive for a better order, and dedicated himself with 
all the zeal of his passionate nature to be willing in 
the day of God’s power. But reforms need a re- 
former. These great ends of freedom and justice 
could be secured only as there was a leader who com- 
bined both vision and valour. Where was this man 
to be found? 


AN IDEALIST WITH AN IDEAL 


We picture the Zealot mingling with the crowd 
which had gathered to hear this new Teacher who 
had arisen. The courage of His outspoken attacks 
on the privileged classes had been the one topic of 
conversation in the bazaars where the leisured com- 


180 The Master and the Twelve 


merce of those days allowed ample opportunity for 
gossip. It had been talked about in the fcetid hovels 
where men, whose hearts were hot with hate born 
of their wrongs, spoke in an undertone, and Simon, 
this lover of liberty, this champion of the common 
people, had resolved to take the first chance of hear- 
ing the great Reformer for himself. He had, how- 
ever, to be cautious. He was known to the authori- 
ties, who would not need much inducement to secure 
his arrest were he found to be engaged in any at- 
tempt to stir up revolt. So with his face partly 
screened by his robe, he stands in the throng listen- 
ing to Jesus, the carpenter. 

Verily, here was a Man after his own heart. Not 
content with denouncing the iniquities of society, 
this Teacher had a constructive policy. What was 
He saying? A new kingdom was to be established, 
—the Kingdom of Heaven, in which righteousness 
should flourish, and the labouring and heavy-laden 
find rest! The Israel of God was no longer to be 
trodden under the heel of the callous oppressor, but 
all should be blessed under the sovereign rule of the 
Supreme! ‘The words fell on his arid soul like dew. 
This was the embodiment of the highest dreams of 
prophet and seer through the centuries, and here 
stood not only an Idealist, who with master-hand 
could paint in glowing colours the future of the 
race, but who evidently possessed the power to en- 
able men to see and feel things as they appeared to 
Him. Darkness had fallen, the stars were span- 
gling the sky with their myriad points of light, when 
the Master finished His discourse and the crowd 
slowly dispersed. But light was beginning to break 
in Simon’s soul. Every star on his homeward way 


Semon, the Enthusiast 181 


seemed a symbol of re-kindled hope. If this 
‘Teacher were in earnest about such reforms, there 
was a new chance for “‘the cause.’’ Simon knew a 
score of zealous hearts to whom he had but to carry 
the news and a movement would start which, like a 
mountain torrent, gathering in both force and fury 
as it sped on its way, would carry all before it. 
Freedom.was in sight! But there must be no mis- 
take this time. /They must lay their plans cautiously 
for spies were everywhere, and another premature 
attempt to overturn the tyrant’s throne would be 
disastrous. Perhaps before telling his associates, it 
would be better to put a few careful questions to 
Jesus Himself, reasoned the Zealot, and with that 
object in view, he sought the Nazarene. Simon 
again took his place in the crowd till the teaching 
was finished, and it might be possible to speak to 
Jesus unobserved. But he did not mind the delay. 
On the contrary, it gave him further opportunity to 
study this strange personality. This Man seemed 
endowed with powers that Simon had never seen 
before. It was not only that He manifestly pos- 
sessed ability to work physical cures, but He also 
exercised an influence over the soul. Simon remem- 
bered the flashing eyes of Judas of Gamala, and the 
denunciations that poured like fiery lava from his 
lips till the hearts of his hearers in turn grew hot. 
But there was something altogether different about 
this Nazarene. His words were charged with di- 
vine meaning. While He admitted the evils of the 
world without, He pointed also to the evil within, 
and it was to Simon as though he were following 
this Teacher along subterranean passages, where the 
darkness was illumined by the torch of Truth, and 


182 The Master and the Twelve 


where loathsome things peered out at him from the 
recesses of his own life. Then Christ seemed to 
lead the way to some mount on which the sun shone 
in golden glory, flooding the landscape with its am- 
ber light, and revealing beauty before hidden from 
human eyes. Life might be a nobler, a more heroic 
thing than he had ever dreamed. He might indeed 
help the world to a realisation of those blessings 
which would spring up like the fresh vegetation 
which reclothes the plain when the forest fire has 
gone. ‘This would be life indeed! 

The Saviour’s words fanned the embers in the 
patriot’s soul. The altar once erected there, but 
long forsaken, now glowed again with holy fire. 
And in the interview which followed, the Zealot 
made his choice. A new leader had been raised up 
by Jehovah, and what was more, He was an idealist 
whose concept of a kingdom was grander than any 
Simon had ever conceived. He felt it was only a 
matter of time and the shackles would be broken. 
The enslaved would march on their tormentors with 
quenchless love of liberty and with deathless ardour. 
His heart seemed to sing with joyous hope: 


“Man’s clouded sun shall brightly rise, 
And songs ascend instead of sighs. 
God save the people!” 


Simon probably thought he had chosen Jesus as his 
new leader. The reverse was the truth: Jesus had 
chosen him as follower. But however the relation- 
ship began, the bond had been forged. ‘Tennyson 
describes the commission which Sir Galahad re- 
ceived to seek the Holy Grail, and as the maiden 
girded the young knight for his quest, she said: 


Szmon, the Enthuszast 183 


“*Go forth, for thou shalt see what I have seen, 
And break thro’ all, till one will crown thee king 
Far in the spiritual city’: and as she spake 
She sent the deathless passion in her eyes 
Thro’ him, and made him hers, and laid her mind 


On him, and he believed in her belief.” 


Simon’s experience was akin. He might not have 
expressed it thus, but Christ sent the deathless pas- 
sion that glowed with unquenchable light in those di- 
vine eyes through him, and claimed his loyal service. 
His heart felt the spell of Christ’s love. Alert, 
ready for any service, he was now on the watch con- 
tinually for opportunities of gaining further ad- 
herents to the Master’s cause, and with passionate 
zeal he spent himself in a thousand ways. 

Such a Master called forth the best for He was 
worthy of the best. And surely, in those days of 
calculated devotion to God, of piety that was meas- 
ured minutely so that the Law’s requirements were 
met and no more, it must have been both refreshing 
and inspiriting for Christ to have such an enthusi- 
astic soul with Him. True, the Zealot would need a 
firm hand, for his anxiety to usher in the day of 
liberty might jeopardise the future of the kingdom. 
His was zeal but not according to knowledge. He 
might precipitate a crisis that would have fatal re- 
sults, but if the choice must be between the extremist 
and the lukewarm, the later words of Christ to the 
Laodicean Church would indicate which were the 
better lot. Professor Seeley has put this in mem- 
orable words: ‘‘No heart is pure that is not pas- 
sionate. No virtue is safe that is not enthusiastic.”’ 

The months which followed saw great develop» 
ment in Simon. Christ had found a man whose 


184 The Master and the Twelve 


powers were running to waste like some torrential 
cataract full of sound and fury» He took those 
powers—the noble aims, the eager discontent, the 
passionate resolves—and just as the mighty forces 
of Niagara, which for centuries were simply a mag- 
nificent spectacle but nothing more have been turned 
to account, generating light, heat and power for the 
service of man, so-our Lord harnessed the zeal of 
this disciple for the great work of the Kingdom. 
The whole fellowship would feel the impact of such 
a life. He would be a constant challenge, urging 
deeper devotion and firmer following of such a 
Leader. He would be a spur in the side of self- 
complacency and none of the others could look on 
this eager face with its deep-set gleaming eyes and 
sensitive mouth without feeling the force of the life 
within. Simon would himself be growingly conscious 
of the change Christ had made in him, as life be- 
came charged with new possibilities of usefulness 
and power. Like his fellow-apostles, he would some- 
times be mystified by Christ’s apparent indifference 
to the chances of the hour, and his heart would 
chafe at the slow progress and the unwarranted 
delay in striking the blow for supremacy. He had 
yet to learn the meaning of the Master’s mission, 
and the truth that underlay the sacred words: ‘My 
thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your 
ways My ways.” But love is the key to the deeper 
loyalties, and as his acquaintance with Christ rip- 
ened, his power to trust Him increased. Once or 
twice, that trust was put to severe tests. For ex- 
ample, when the crowd determined to make Christ 
king by force, Simon’s hopes leapt high. He may 
have disliked the term “‘king,’’ suspecting that the 


Szmon, the Enthuszast 185 


movement might take a wrong direction and one 
yoke simply be substituted for another. Yet it was 
something to know that an active course had begun, 
and who could tell where it might end! But ere 
the crowd could achieve the desired aim, Christ dis- 
appeared, and the chance was lost,: ,Again, the 
Zealot’s breast swelled with anticipations of tri- 
umph when the Master rode into Jerusalem in the 
manifest role of the Messiah. It was heartening to 
hear the welcome shouts, and to see the garments 
strewing His way as for a kingly conqueror. It was 
thrilling to note His rebuke to the querulous critics 
who objected to the popular outburst, and to see 
the chattering money-changers—dishonest rogues as 
they were to a man—snatch at the coins which ran 
from the overturned tables, and then retreat shame- 
facedly before that righteous gaze. But it was dis- 
appointing indeed to find that Christ would not fol- 
low up the advantage. He was unwilling to take 
the reins of office when they were thrust into His 
hands. He would not take possession of Herod’s 
throne though a thousand arms were ready to storm 
the guard and make Him king. On the contrary, 
the Master firmly insisted on returning to Bethany, 
flinging His chances to the winds. It was not strat- 
egy. It was unjust both to Himself and to the cause. 
Of course, Simon knew that possibly his Leader 
could not entrust His plans to them at that juncture, 
but there was an alternative explanation of His ac- 
tions. Could it be that He had no definite plans at 
all? Simon sickened at the thought. If He had, 
why did He not press His claims when the city lay 
at His feet? Why did He later suggest withdraw- 
ing to that secluded Upper Room, and why secretly 


186 The Master and the Twelve 


inform His friends that He was going to leave 
them? Unless, perhaps He intended to strike a 
blow for supremacy from some unexpected quarter, 
and wanted them to remain in the capital to divert 
attention from Himself? For a moment that 
seemed a probable idea. But the Lord went on to 
speak of being betrayed, of dying at the hands of 
His foes, and Simon’s soul sank. ‘‘Hope deferred 
maketh the heart sick,’’ and noble resolves frus- 
trated time after time tend to misery and madness. 
Later, when calamity followed calamity, as it did in 
swift succession, it is little wonder if this man who 
had been sorely disappointed before by Judas’s over- 
throw, now found himself flung from those sun- 
kissed hills, where hopes tower high above mist and 
cloud, down to the depths of depression too awful 
for words. Christ was dead, murdered by His ene- 
mies and with Him hope died too. It must have 
appeared to Simon that there was no justice on 
earth and no pity in the heavens. Man’s best ef- 
forts to right the wrong and free the fettered were 
only mocked by the supreme powers, and the out- 
look was dark indeed. 

We lose sight of Simon in the gloom of those 
grief-laden days. He had scattered with the rest 
when safety seemed to demand it, but he was unable 
to escape the torturing regrets that filled his mind. 
He felt, as Lowell puts it: 


“Careless seems the great Avenger; history’s pages but record 
One death-grapple in the darkness ’twixt old systems and 
the Word; 
Truth for ever on the scaffold, Wrong for ever on the 
throne.” 


Szmon, the Enthusiast 187 


Far away from Jerusalem’s turbulent streets, this 
dejected and once ardent soul would cry out in bitter- 
ness of heart, even as Elijah had done under similar 
stress, for the narcotic draught of death’s cup. All 
was in vain; happier were those who could bow to 
the inevitable rather than seek deliverance and re- 
form for the race. 

' When Christian found himself in the House of 
the Interpreter, as Bunyan relates, he saw a strange 
sight. There was a fire burning by a wall, and al- 
though a man stood by it, constantly throwing water 
on the flames, they leapt higher and higher. Chris- 
tian could not understand why the water proved so 
ineffectual until his guide showed him another man 
standing on the other side of the wall, perpetually 
feeding the fire with oil. ‘Thus it burned with in- 
creasing strength. It was so with the fires of en- 
thusiasm in the Zealot’s soul. Although for a time 
they were damped down and almost extinguished, 
the oil of Divine grace was secretly poured upon 
them, till they leapt up with more than former 
brightness. ‘The days passed, bringing the glad in- 
telligence that the Lord lived. The disciples saw 
the loved face again. ‘They heard the voice they 
thought was silenced for ever. And with Christ’s 
commission ringing in their ears, and that empower- 
ing Presence as their confidence, new hopes flooded 
their darkened souls as though one flung open the 
shuttered windows in a house of mourning, and let 
the glorious light fill the room. 

Simon, the Zealot, had his distinctive part to play 
in the period which preceded Pentecost. In the 
light of experience much that had seemed unintelli- 
gible now shone clear. The Master was truly the 


188 The Master and the Twelve 


Messiah. The Kingdom was one in which, in a way 
the faithful fathers had never dreamed, God and 
right were to reign supreme. By emancipation from 
sin’s thralldom, man was to know a freedom sur- 
passing any the most radical reformer had con- 
ceived, and thus the glorious liberty of the sons of 
God would be secured. The gradual unfolding of 
the Master’s mission brought back enthusiasm’s 
warm glow to the heart, and the whole company 
felt its effects. Simon had not the gifts and graces 
of others. His part was peculiarly his own, to en- 
thuse and inspire. While a few were still wrestling 
with doubt, in his case 


“A warmth within the breast would melt 
The freezing reason’s colder part, 
And like a man in wrath the heart 
Stood up and answer’d ‘I have felt.’ ” 


When the power of Pentecost came upon the Apos- 
tles, who first suggested sallying forth in the name 
of the Redeemer and taking the citadel by storm? 
Who planned further sorties against the might of 
wickedness, and when beaten back by weight of 
numbers, who rallied the forces of faith by holding 
out glowing hopes of conquest? Who nerved weak 
hearts and strengthened faltering feet among the 
numerous converts which followed the preaching 
of the Word? We can well believe that Simon’s 
enthusiasm was a vital factor in securing the splen- 
did victories of the cross. 

What steam is to the cylinder, enthusiasm is to 
the soul. It was the fiery spirit of Peter, the 
Hermit, which set Europe ablaze with ardent de- 


Szmon, the Enthuszast 189 


sire to free the Holy Land from the foot of the 
infidel, and which made the Crusades possible. It 
was the unquenchable enthusiasm of Columbus that 
enabled him to set the prow of his vessel to the 
uncharted wastes, and eventually to overcome al- 
most insuperable obstacles, so that, as his monument 
at Washington records, he gave a new world to hu- 
manity. Garibaldi, fired with zeal for Italian free- 
dom, cried, ‘“He who loveth his country with his 
heart, not with his lips, let him follow me. I prom- 
ise you hunger, forced marches, weariness, wounds 
and death, but at last victory.” And his enthusiasm 
carried him to triumph. It nerved the hearts of 
Wilberforce and Lincoln in their conflict with slav- 
ery, and irresistibly they pressed on till the cause 
Was supreme; and it sped the feet of Peary and 
Amundsen, of Scott and Shackleton, in their quest 
of the Poles. 

Such enthusiasm, like faith, can subdue kingdoms, 
work righteousness, obtain promises, and stop the 
mouths of lions, and its enduring qualities are due 
to a great belief in the glorious cause of the Lord 
Jesus. Simon, the Zealot, became a force for right- 
eousness because of his intimacy with Christ and his 
recognition of the Redeemer’s power to save the 
world. A like faith will produce similar effects in 
our experience. We need the kindling of the Divine 
Spirit so that our cold hearts may glow with passion- 
ate love for the Redeemer. In the fires of devotion 
to Him, barriers that divide the Christian Church 
into unrelated sections and that minimise our efh- . 
ciency shall be consumed. Formal worship and per- 
functory service will be impossible, and through the 
empowering Spirit we shall be able to sweep aside 


190 The Master and the Twelve 


obstacles to progress, and the Kingdom shall be es- 
tablished. 

Men are permitted to be enthusiasts in other di- 
rections—in literature and art, in science and sport. 
Why not in religion? We admire the patriot who 
does not spare himself in service for the public wel- 
fare. Why should not the universal empire of 
Christ awaken the same ardour and passionate zeal? 
Henry Drummond has well said: ‘“I'rue religion is 
. i. a fire! Itis'a sword. ) It is'a burning, cous 
suming heat, which must radiate upon everything 
around. The change to the Christlike Life is so re- 
markable that when one really undergoes it, he can- 
not find words in common use by which he can de- 
scribe its revolutionary character. He has to recall 
the very striking phrases of the New Testament, 
which once seemed such exaggerations: ‘a new man, 
a new creature, a new heart, a new birth.” His very 
life has been taken down and re-crystallised round 
the new centre. He has been born again. . . . An 
enthusiastic religion is the perfection of common 
sense. And to be beside oneself for Christ’s sake is 
to be beside Christ, which is man’s chief end for 
time and ‘eternity. 47) 

This is the power that transforms life and its 
service. It makes the most exacting sphere of la- 
bour a place in’ which the soul finds ample scope to 
prove its prowess and demonstrate its devotion to 
the Divine will, and while the character is thus 
formed, incalculable good may be achieved. To 
realise how wide-reaching are the demands of the 
Master and how wondrous His love for the individ- 
ual disciple is the way to this glowing enthusiasm 
which will last. ‘She loved much,” Christ said 


Szmon, the Enthuszast 191 


in explanation of that woman’s lavish offering of 
the fragrant spikenard, and to love in that way is 
the secret of the outpoured life. After all, it is 
surely better to give our best with regal prodigality 
to such a Lord than hoard our spikenard till the 
chance of giving it to Him has passed. It is a thou- 
sand times better to turn the one talent to account 
than leave it to moulder in the earth, though we 
may never live to see the full results of our efforts. 
“It is better to begin your folio,” says Robert Louis 
Stevenson, “even if the doctor does not give you a 
year, even if he hesitates about a month, make one 
brave push, and see what can be accomplished in a 
week. All who have meant good work with their 
whole hearts have done good work, although they 
may die before they have the time to sign it... . 
Does not life go down with a better grace, foaming 
in full body over a precipice, than miserably strag- 
gling to an end in sandy deltas?” 

That surely describes the spirit of Simon; a 
mighty, earnest, zealous soul which breathed the in- 
tense reality of Christ and which wrought much in 
the Church of that day. We need his progressive 
mind, his sterling character, his noble enthusiasm, 
and each of us may well think of the careless and 
indifferent world and exclaim with Wesley: 


“Enlarge, inflame and fill my heart 
With boundless charity divine; 
So shall I all my strength exert, 
And love them with a zeal like Thine; 
And lead them to Thine open side, 
The sheep for whom their Shepherd died.” 


X 
JUDE, THE INGENUOUS 
“Judas, not Iscariot.” —JOHN 14: 22. 


GTi aae identity of this disciple merits a moment’s 
consideration. He has sometimes been con- 
fused with the writer of the Epistle of Jude. ‘That, 
however, can hardly be so, for there the author 
not only describes himself as “the brother of 
James,” but he also leads us to infer that he was 
outside the Apostolate. He writes, ‘Beloved, re- 
member ye the words which have been spoken be- 
fore by the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ, how 
they said to you, In the last time there shall be 
mockers. ...’’ He discriminates between the 
Apostles and himself, for otherwise he would 
surely have written not “they said” but “‘we said.” 
Therefore, Jude of the Epistle was not included 
in the Twelve, but was possibly a brother of James, 
the author of the Epistle bearing that name, and 
also one of our Lord’s brothers. In that case, he 
would be the Judas mentioned in Mark 6:3, “Is 
not this the Carpenter, the Son of Mary, and 
brother of James and Joses, and Juda and Si- 
mon?’ And the recorded incredulity of Christ’s 
brethren, who did not believe in His mission at the 
outset, would also warrant the distinction drawn be- 
tween them and the chosen disciples., There is an- 
other fact which must be noted, and it is of consid- 
erable importance. The Apostle Judas must not be 
192 


Jude, the Ingenuous 193 


confused with the arch-traitor. John is careful to 
make this point clear. In the Upper Room, when 
Jesus was taking the last opportunity before His 
Passion of comforting and counselling His followers, 
this disciple shared in the discussion raised, and the 
writer of the Fourth Gospel describes him as 


Jupas, Nor Iscarior. 


Bishop Westcott says: ‘The distinguishing clause 
seems at once to mark that Judas Iscariot was the 
more conspicuous of the two bearing the name, and 
also to express the instinctive shrinking of the 
Evangelist from even the momentary identification 
of the speaker with the betrayer, though he had 
distinctly marked the departure of Iscariot. If, as 
appears likely, St. John’s narrative took shape in 
oral teaching addressed to a circle of disciples, the 
addition may have met with a look of surprise from 
the hearers.’’ ‘There are other reasons for noting 
_the difference between the two men. Jude is also 
called Thaddeus and Lebbzus, the third name sig- 
nifying “a man of heart,” and that may indicate 
something of his character. Let us look at the con- 
trast between Iscariot and this disciple. The traitor 
was certainly endowed with some good qualities, as 
we hope to show later, but he was also self-seeking 
and unstable. He was an opportunist, who, finding 
one way of gratifying his desires and furthering his 
plans closed to him, sought another. He was a man 
of mixed motives, full of duplicity and guile, event- 
ually filling a prominent if shameful place in the his- 
tory of the Apostolate. On the other hand, Judas, 
not Iscariot, was an artless, self-effacing soul. Guile- 


194 The Master and the Twelve 


less as Nathanael in many ways, he showed a sim- 
plicity and obedient faith which are delightful to 
behold. ‘The questions he put to Christ sprang 
from a puzzled and yet pure heart, and we there- 
fore call him Jude, the ingenuous, for he was mani- 
festly sincere, outspoken, and frank, without trace 
of dissimulation. 

So John’s phrase is a distinction with a difference, 
as will be seen at a glance when we set the charac- 
teristics of the two apostles in contrast. 


Judas Iscariot Judas, not Iscariot, 
embodies: embodies: 

Self-seeking Self-eftacement 

Instability Stability 

Opportunism Devotion 

Duplicity Simplicity 

Prominence Obscurity 


Were further proof of this position needed, we 
have only to compare the attitude of the two in the 
sacred intimacy of the Upper Room. 

It is there that we obtain the closest view we 
have of Jude’s character. Like the rest of the com- 


pany, 


JupE Was PERPLEXED BY THE POSITION 
OF AFFAIRS. 


The Master was leaving them, and at such a 
moment that seemed disastrous. Long before, 
Jude had responded to the divine summons, and 
whatever his lot was, he forsook everything—home, 
career, friends—for Christ’s sake. ‘That seemed 


Jude, the Ingenuous 195 


the only reasonable course at the time, and he had 
not regretted it. How could he? It had brought 
privileges that any man might have coveted. He had 
been drawn into close intimacy with the kingliest of 
men. He had not only listened to His _heart- 
searching yet healing words, but he had also seen 
miracles wrought and majesty manifested, awaken- 
ing awe in his soul. He had felt the invigorating 
influence of that noble life, and that in itself was 
reward enough for any sacrifices made. 

There were many things Christ said and did which 
Jude felt were beyond his powers of comprehension, 
but knowing he was not as quick at understanding 
things as some of his brethren, he was content to 
trust the Master implicitly. His was the sunny, 
confiding nature of a child, and where love is great 
faith is strong. Of necessity, he would reason with 
himself, there must be some things unintelligible, 
considering that the Lord was indeed the Son of 
God. Peter had affirmed that fact; others had con- 
firmed it. Why then need he ask questions or con- 
cern himself with what was beyond him? 

With exuberant delight, he witnessed the crowds 
welcome the Master to Jerusalem, hailing Him as 
the Messiah, and Jude’s heart swelled with justifi- 
able pride to form part of Christ’s bodyguard. He 
had glimpses of another side of his Lord’s charac- 
ter when he saw the fraudulent money-changers 
turned out of the Temple they polluted, and in- 
wardly had approved the courage Christ displayed, 
in thus cleansing the sacred courts of such pestilent 
parasites. Sovereignty was now only a matter of 
time. The period of obscure waiting was fast draw- 
ing to a close. The kingdom would soon be estab- 


196 The Master and the Twelve 


lished, and the Saviour’s friends would share His 
splendour. So his simple mind ran on. But there 
came the rude awakening. In the privacy of their 
room, Jesus had thrust aside all that pointed to an 
immediate assumption of power, and Jude’s castles 
in the air melted away. 


“They fly. forgotten as a dream 
Dies at the opening day.” 


The Lord he loved so tenderly spoke of dying at 
the hands of His foes, betrayed by one of His 
brethren! Is it any wonder that Jude was perplexed 
by the position that confronted him? 


JupE Was PuZZLED By CHRIST’s PROMISES 


Though the Redeemer told them that He must 
leave them, He yet said, “Let not your hearts be 
troubled,’ as though they could part from Him 
without a pang. Yet He spoke of coming back so 
that they might resume their happy relationship. It 
all seemed so difficult to understand! Jude was re- 
lieved to find he was not the only one who found 
Christ’s words puzzling. Thomas asked a question 
about the journey to which Christ referred. Philip 
followed with the request to see the Father of 
whom He spoke. And though the answers did not 
convey much to Jude, he was content if they satisfied 
his more enlightened friends. But misgiving deep- 
ened when the Master said, “He that loveth Me 
shall be loved of My Father, and I will love him and 
will manifest Myself unto him.” ‘There must be 
some mistake! Dr. Marcus Dods says: ‘The en- 


Jude, the Ingenuous 197 


couraging assurances of our Lord are interrupted by — 
Judas Thaddeus. As Peter, Thomas and Philip had 
availed themselves of their Master’s readiness to 
solve their difficulties, so now Judas utters his per- 
plexity. He perceives that the manifestation of 
which Jesus had spoken is not public and general, 
but special and private; and he says: ‘Lord, what 
has happened that Thou art to manifest Thyself to 
us and not to the world?’ It would seem as if 
Judas had been greatly impressed by the public 
demonstration in favour of Jesus a day or two pre- 
viously, and supposed that something must have oc- 
curred to cause Him now to wish to manifest Him- 
self only to a select few. Apparently Judas’ con- 
struction of the future was still entangled with the 
ordinary Messianic expectation. He thought Jesus, 
although departing for a little, would return speedily 
in outward Messianic glory and would triumphantly 
‘ enter Jerusalem and establish Himself there. But 
how this could be done privately he could not under- 
stand. And if Jesus had entirely altered His plan, 
and did not mean immediately to claim Messianic 
supremacy, but only to manifest Himself to a few, 
was this possible?’ Would not this mean defeating 
the divine end, which was surely to inaugurate the 
Messianic rule? And yet because he loved Christ 
so well, he found relief in believing trust. 


JupE Was SATISFIED 


that Christ’s promises were dependable. He could 
not fathom them. He did not know how the Saviour 
meant to manifest Himself to them, and yet not 


198 The Master and the Twelve 


divulge His return to others, but where reasoning 
failed, faith prevailed. Perhaps the Apostle had 
discovered the truth so well expressed by Tenny- 
son: 


(as 


. . . Nothing worthy proving can be proven, 
Nor yet disproven, wherefore be thou wise, 
Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt 

And cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith.” 


Certainly, as he listened to the reassuring words of 
Christ his heart was quietened and made strong 
again. He felt that he could safely leave the meth- 
ods by which the Master would manifest Himself 
to higher hands. With fine confidence Henry Ward 
Beecher wrote: ‘‘God’s promises are the comfort of 
my life. Without them I could not stand for an 
hour in the whirl and eddy of things, in the’ sweep 
and surge of the nations; but I cannot tell how He 
will fulfil them any more than I can tell you from 
just what quarter the first flock of bluebirds will 
come in the spring. Yet I am sure that the spring 
will come upon the wings of ten thousand birds.” It 
was enough that in the tempestuous times through 
which the disciples might pass, they were not to be 
left desolate nor without a guiding, steadying hand. 
Christ had promised His unfailing help and constant 
presence, and that meant the supply of all their 
need. 

We can imagine this frank, ingenuous soul in sub- 
sequent days. When doubts assailed, his complete 
assurance that no matter what might mystify, Christ 
could be trusted, would impart confidence to the 
others. When danger threatened or the days were 
overcast with ominous clouds, his faith in Christ’s 


Jude, the Ingenuous 199 


promises would gleam like a shaft of sunlight, dis- 
pelling the heart’s gloomiest fears. Jude was the 
prototype of Livingstone in this, for when that fear- 
less pioneer found himself beset with dangers from 
hostile tribes and difficulties that threatened to daunt 
his intrepid heart, he fell back on the promise of 
Christ, ‘““Lo, I am with you alway,” saying “It is 
the word of a Gentleman of the most sacred and 
strictest honour. I will not cross the river furtively 
by night as I intended. It would appear as flight, 
and should such a man as I flee? Nay, verily, I 
shall take observations for latitude and longitude 
to-day, though they may be the last.” 

How much sweeter life would be, and more se- 
rene our souls, were we to cultivate the courage of 
this simple, trustful, open-minded disciple. He had 
no secret plans to further at the expense of his 
friends. He sought no preferment, nor desired to 
exercise authority over those who worked with him 
in Christ’s service. He admitted the profundity of 
the ocean he sailed without stopping constantly to 
sound its depths, content to know that there was a 
hand on the tiller, guiding his vessel aright. His life 
illustrates the fine words of the Shorter Catechism, 
‘‘Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy 
Him for ever.” And such “enjoyment” is found in 
implicit obedience and in a life attuned to the Divine 
will. New glories will be discovered in every phase 
of human experience. The world itself would be re- 
garded as the habitation of the Eternal, for such a 
one could say: 

“, .. For I have learned 
To look on nature, not as in the hour 


200 The Master and the Twelve 


Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes 
The still, sad music of humanity, 

Nor harsh, nor grating, though of ample power 
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 

A presence that disturbs me with the joy 

Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime 

Of something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns 
And the round ocean and the living air 

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; 
A motion and a spirit that impels 

All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
And rolls through ali things.” 


The daily round will provide new opportunities 
of growing in grace and of reflecting the radiance of 
the Son of God seen in character and conduct, while 
the sorrows and strivings which are the portion of 
every soul, shall not be able to diminish its trust nor 
vanquish faith. 

Such would be the life of Jude, the ingenuous. 
His heart tranquil and pure, would mirror the glory 
of the divine Master, while his frank and engaging 
manner would make religion attractive to all who 
came within the radius of his influence. His life 
would commend Christ by its consistency and cheer- 
fulness, and there would be that freedom from anx- 
iety and worry, no matter what the circumstances, 
that would create happiness for others as well as 
himself. Robert Louis Stevenson describes the ef- 
fects of a life like that. ‘‘A happy man or woman is 
a better thing to find than a five-pound note. He or 
she is a radiating focus of good-will; and their en- 
trance into a room is as though another candle had 
been lighted. We need not care whether they could 


Jude, the Ingenuous 201 


prove the forty-seventh proposition; they do a bet- 
ter thing than that; they practically demonstrate the 
great Theorem of the Liveableness of Life.” 

What is the secret of the serene, sunny life which 
Jude typifies? A life attuned and a heart at rest. 
And as Faber sings: 


“Tf our love were but more simple 
We should take Him at His word, 
And our lives would be all sunshine 
In the sweetness of our Lord.” 


XI 


JAMES, THE MAN OF UNRECORDED 
VEIDELELY 


“James, the son of Alpheus.” 
—MAaTTHEW 10:3. 


T is supremely interesting to find, included in the 
Apostolic company, a representative of that 
“oreat multitude which no man can number,” which 
does its daily duty, fills its allotted sphere with bene- 
fit to the whole community, but which passes on 
without receiving the meed of praise. It is a matter 
of some difficulty even to place this Apostle with 
any degree of certainty. Only by the process of 
elimination can we arrive at any facts concerning 
him beyond the description assigned in the Gospels 
that he was “James, the son of Alpheus.” He is 
usually known as James the Less, to distinguish him 
from James, the brother of the Lord, who ultimately 
became head of the Jerusalem church, and the prob- 
able author of the Epistle of James. And the only 
ground we have for this is that, during Christ’s 
ministry, none of His brethren believed on Him. 
So James, the Apostle, was not one of the Master’s 
brothers; he was distinct from James, the son of 
Zebedee; and that is all the information at our dis- 
posal. Not all—for we know him as a quiet, un- 
obtrusive disciple, who 
202 


James, Man of Unrecorded Fidelity 203 


REJOICED IN CHRIST’s COMPANIONSHIP. 


There are no details of the call which caused him 
to quit the sphere he occupied for one of toilsome 
hardship and even penury. Yet, as in the case of his 
fellow disciples, when the Master laid the spell of 
that compelling personality on him, he had no al- 
ternative, if he were to be true to his best self, but 
to obey. It was a privilege to be prized. He had 
been conscious at some time, as we all have been, 
that he was meant for other than the base and ig- 
noble things that sought to claim supremacy in the 
soul. ‘There was a longing for the ideal—some- 
thing that would give scope for the unformed as- 
pirations of his heart, something that would call 
forth the innate chivalry and self-sacrifice of his na- 
ture. He found that ideal actually realised in this 
Teacher from Nazareth, . James was not the only 
one who felt that spell. The rich young ruler who 
came to Christ, stirred from his self-complacent 
piety by the singular nobility and superb qualities 
of the Master’s life, experienced the same thing. 
So did the man who came with rapturous resolve, 
saying, “Master, I will follow Thee whithersoever 
Thou goest.”” The former was held back by those 
imponderable yet enduring fetters of gold from 
which Christ offered to free him. The latter was 
daunted by the spectres of homelessness and want 
that seemed to hover about the path of discipleship. 
But James was made of sterner stuff. Though he 
was not bound by golden chains, certainly there were 
other ties holding him to his accustomed life, and 
just as difficult to break. Nor would he be blind to 
the considerations of prudence that weighed with 


204 The Master and the Twelve 


the other would-be follower. Yet the good was 
too alluring to be thrust aside by any thought of 
self-interest, and so we find James among the Apos- 
tles. 

What visions broke upon his eyes! What mar- 
vellous unveilings of the Divine love were his! No 
matter what his first impressions of Jesus were, the 
passing days brought a deepened devotion that 
gripped and mastered him. He saw that sublime 
Saviour devoid of what commonly passes for dignity, 
but with humility that was regal, stooping to the 
lowliest needs and consorting with the most de- 
eraded. He felt the strange mingling of qualities 
which are usually regarded as opposites, for while 
Christ thus humbled Himself to the plane of the 
poorest, there was a kingly air about Him which 
made even the pomp and luxury of Simon’s house- 
hold seem barely fitting. ‘The Master could speak 
with such tenderness that the children looked up 
from their play to catch a word or a smile, while at 
other times, when the hypocrisy of opulent Pharisa- 
ism turned its leering face to Him, His words of 
condemnation and rebuke cut like whips of steel. 
He could show His power by bringing light to 
darkened eyes and shuttered souls, by stilling the 
angry waves of the lake or the tumult of storm-swept 
hearts, by multiplying the loaves so that the fam- 
ished were fed, or with the Bread of Life satisfy- 
ing the soul-hungry. Yet, with it all, they and He 
sometimes knew what it was to be in sorest straits 
for daily necessities. James had never seen a na- 
ture so diverse, revealing such humility and dig- 
nity, such gentleness and severity, such wealth to 
meet humanity's requirements, and yet such poverty. 


James, Man of Unrecorded Fidelity 205 


But the more he saw of Christ, the greater his ad- 
miration, and as the Master spent Himself without 
stint for the sake of suffering and sorrowing souls, 
James felt that here was truly the life which is life 
indeed. He could not grasp things quickly like 
John; he had not the power to express himself like 
Peter; he did not possess the fearless spirit of his 
namesake, the son of Zebedee, but what he could 
do, he would do—he would strive to follow the 
Master’s example in deeds that brought a benedic- 
tion to the soul. So we find in his life: 


REVERENCE EXPRESSED IN SERVICE. 


James learned that love must find an outlet. His 
regard for Christ showed itself in a quickening of 
his whole nature. If his natural tendency was to 
self-indulgence or sloth, he felt new forces at work 
within him, and as opportunities came, he shared the 
work of his Master as far as it lay in his power. 
The fact that his service remains unrecorded does 
not disprove its value. On the contrary, the world 
is under continual debt to men whose names will 
never be known. 

Who was the first to stand upon the shore and, 
looking across the blue waters that stretched from 
his feet, a shimmering yet unpassed barrier, resolved 
to conquer them? He may have seen a log floating 
by, and it suggested a means of transit. Later, find- 
ing that he could hollow out that log and find addi- 
tional security and convenience, he made the first 
canoe, and so the slow process of evolving the ship 
began. That hardy and adventurous soul flung aside 
the fearsome terrors with which the waters were in- 


(206 The Master and the Twelve 


vested, making them a means to compass desire. 
But that unknown mariner was the founder of our 
mercantile marine, the forerunner of Columbus and 
Cabot, of Raleigh, Drake and the Pilgrim Fathers. 
His service, if not his name, shall be held in ever- 
lasting remembrance. 

Who was it first tried to reproduce the myriad 
sounds in Nature’s vast orchestra—the diapason of 
the storm among the mountains, the gurgling rivu- 
let, the melodious note of the birds, the sighing of 
the breeze or the shrill piccolo of the wintry winds? 
He was the man to whom music-lovers the world 
over should turn with homage. Who sought to re- 
duce to writing the sounds by which men communi- 
cated with one another? The lover of our great 
English literature traces the path back through the 
Victorians to Milton, and Shakespeare, to Chaucer 
and Cedmon, the poor herdsman in the Abbey of 
Hilda. But ages before then, before the poets and 
prophets of the Hebrews, there was one, honoured 
yet unnamed, who was the father of letters. Who 
first instituted the bartering of commodities, and so 
laid the foundations of modern commerce? Who 
tried to reproduce the gorgeous colours of the rain- 
bow and to capture the flush of the evening sky or 
the glint of sunlight on the dancing sea? To all 
these pioneers, the world is indebted, and yet their 
efforts remain unchronicled, and their identity is lost 
in the mists of antiquity. 

James suggests the place that the’unacclaimed yet 
fill, and the permanent benefits they confer on pos- 
terity. It may truly be said that James stands at the 
head of that noble company whom Lowell describes 
as: 


James, Man of Unrecorded Fidelity 207 


“Ail-Saints—the unknown good that rest 

In God’s still memory folded deep; 

The bravely dumb that did their deed, 

And scorned to blot it with a name. 

Men of the plain heroic breed, 

That loved Heaven’s silence more than fame.” 


Yet though the doers of the deed be denied the 
plaudits of the populace, the deed remains, and to 
unborn generations the blessings they gave to the 
world are transmitted. Many a successful man who 
has achieved fame and fortune, or who has been the 
means of helping the race forward, owes practically 
everything to the parents who gave him his start. 
They may have foregone many a comfort, and even 
have sacrificed some of the necessaries of life to give 
him a good education, and set his young feet on the 
first rungs of the ladder. Yet while such a man is 
rightly honoured for his worth, how often is the 
debt he owes his parents remembered? ‘They fill 
premature graves because of the hardships their sac- 
rifice entailed, and love’s service is both unrecorded 
and unrewarded. 

We know Abraham as the father of the faithful, 
but while we may perchance recall that his father 
was Terah, who knows his mother’s name? None. 
It is never mentioned. Yet it would be a daring 
thing to suggest that some of those fine traits of 
character, marking him out as a man of great re- 
source, and of singular susceptibility to spiritual in- 
fluences were not derived from her. And we seldom 
think of her in that connection. The great com- 
manding figure of Samson has always exercised a 
certain fascination for us. We read of the sacred 
safeguards set about that young soul, dedicated 


208 The Master and the Twelve 


from birth to the Divine service, and we honour 
Manoah, his father, for the efforts he made to carry 
out the injunctions of Jehovah. ‘The daring esca- 
pades of the young giant are followed with interest 
—his fight with the lion, the foxes sent to fire the 
standing corn of the Philistines, the gates of Gaza 
carried off, and at last, after his folly and overthrow 
at the instigation of Delilah, the magnificent attempt 
he made to retrieve his honour. But these exploits 
completely overshadow his parents, and it is with 
the utmost surprise that we discover, although so 
much is said about his mother and the part she 
played in fitting her son for his mission, her name is 
unwritten. 

David, the son of Jesse, is one of the best-known 
of Old Testament figures, and his meteoric course 
from shepherd boy to sovereign is as romantic as 
anything to be found even in fiction. But though we 
are familiar with the incidents of his varied life, 
and have found unspeakable comfort and delight in 
the sweet singer and his songs, again nothing is said 
of her who first led his thoughts to higher things 
and who implanted in his heart deep love for God, 
and the noble virtues of patience, submission and 
trust Not only has the world failed to recognise 
the greatness of such unselfish service, but it has also 
failed to see that without this valiant if untrump- 
eted heroism life would be immeasurably poorer. 

It has been pointed out that nearly all the great 
music of the world has been derived from humble 
sources or from an environment that at best strikes 
us as uncongenial. Beethoven’s father was a dissi- 
pated vocalist. Sebastian Bach was the son of a 
poor musician who lived in the utmost penury. Che- 


James, Man of Unrecorded Fidelity 209 


rubini came from the common people, while Haydn’s 
father was a wheelwright and his mother had been 
a cook. Mozart was born in the home of an unsuc- 
cessful musician, and Rossini was the son of a strol- 
ling horn-player. Schubert’s father was a poor 
schoolmaster; Handel’s father, a barber and sur- 
geon; Verdi's a peasant of Lombardy. Gluck, 
Cimarosa, and Weber, all sprang from a like lowly 
stock. 

At rare intervals there has been some acknowl- 
edgment on the part of the recipient of such benefits. 
There was a man in London, well known for his 
tireless efforts on behalf of the outcast and unfor- 
tunate. He was regarded with considerable amuse- 
ment by those of his own class. They could not 
understand him. One of his eccentricities was to 
carry an old silver watch which he would occasionally 
fondle, saying, ‘““This watch was given to me by the 
best friend I ever had.”’ Who was she? When this 
man was born, his mother gave him to the care of 
her maid. That godly woman regarded the child as 
a sacred trust, and spent herself for its good. She 
taught the boy to pray, and later to read the Bible, 
at the same time inspiring sympathy for other chil- 
dren who, like himself, lacked a mother’s love and 
care. He grew up with a resolute determination to 
give his strength to the weak, his gifts to the poor, 
and his love to the loveless and unlovely, and Lord 
Shaftesbury’s work abides to this day. We know 
that work, we know his worth, but can we name his 
faithful nurse? Many people to whom Shaftes- 
bury’s life is familiar would find themselves unable 
to answer the question, and the name of Maria Millis 
would convey nothing to them were it mentioned. 


210 The Master and the Twelve 


Yet under God the springs of that stream of philan- 
thropy were in her. 

Much has been written of Carlyle, and his early 
struggles, his dogged determination to overcome his 
difficulties. His trenchant criticisms of society and 
his mordant humour, awaken admiration bordering 
on enthusiasm in those who have followed his career. 
But strong and searching as some of his writings are, 
he never penned anything finer than the tribute he 
paid to his mother. She had sometimes expressed 
concern about her talented son. His opinions puz- 
zled her, if they did not actually cause pain to her 
simple heart. But when he was well past middle life, 
Carlyle wrote: “I will try to live by the noble exam- 
ple you showed; to hold fast for myself, and speak 
abroad to others the precious, simple wisdom | 
learned from my mother. Oh, thank you, dear, 
pious-hearted mother, for the breeding you gave 
me; things that I feel to be wise, to be God’s truth, 
fit to be spoken aloud before all mortals; how often, 
with an unspeakable tenderness of recollection, do I 
find—that now is thy mother’s; that was got from 
thy poor mother long ago. May God reward her!” 

Thus though James stands as the type of un- 
recorded and unrewarded service, he merits not only 
the place our Lord gave him as one of the Apostles, 
but also a place in our hearts. Such a life has a 
boundless influence. Work done for Christ’s sake 
has qualities that make it eternal. Good achieved 
by stealth, innumerable acts of kindness and love, 
even though never spoken about, are like flowers 
which sow themselves and bloom again with every 
recurring Spring. And though, as in the case of the 
Samaritan who aided the stricken traveller, the doer 


James, Man of Unrecorded Fidehtty 211 


of the deed remains unidentified and unrewarded, 
that does not diminish the value of the help given. 
This is of immeasurable inspiration and encourage- 
ment to all who, in public or private life, in the 
spheres of business, Church, or home, are striving to 
express their love for Christ in service for others. 
Many a time, we feel the futility of our efforts. So 
little seems to be accomplished, and the results are 
apparently out of all proportion to the sacrifice en- 
tailed. Our motives are impugned, and our methods 
unfairly criticised. Our endeavours are mocked or 
met by ingratitude. Is it worth while? The fine 
courage with which we began is daunted. Enthusi- 
asm evaporates. We are in danger of becoming, 
like many once-ardent seekers after good, extinct 
volcanoes which at one time glowed with activity, 
but are now cold and frigid. 

We shall escape such a deplorable condition if 
James’s example is kept before us. We cannot gauge 
the worth of our service, nor the value of our lives to 
the world. The coral reefs and islands that stud 
the ocean like so many gems, are formed of tiny 
creatures that living, build themselves into the struc- 
ture and then die, and the individual Christian, in- 
tent on doing the Master’s will and so expressing his 
devotion to Christ, shall be instrumental in building 
up the heavenly Kingdom. Our service may seem 
unimportant, but immeasurable as eternity itself is 
the influence of a consecrated soul, constrained to 
high endeavour by the love of Christ. The impress 
of our lives will remain when we have passed on. 

The commission which made James’s life truly 
great—to follow Him who went about doing good 
—comes to each of us, saying: 


212 The Master and the Twelve 


“. . Spend, and be spent, 
Thy joy to do the Father’s will.” 


In days of disillusionment, when the ideals of unsel- 
fish concern for the welfare of others are either dis- 
credited or discarded, we need anew that which shall 
redeem life from destruction, and make the most 
menial and often meaningless task, a sacrament. 
The incentive to live nobly, to strive and serve our 
brethren to the fullest extent of our powers is en- 
shrined in the motto of G. F. Watts, ‘“The utmost 
for the highest.”’ He set his face like a flint against 
the unworthy. He refused to employ his talent for 
merely personal ends. The consequence is that his 
work, even if he had never initialled a canvas, re- 
veals the high purpose and lofty ideals of the soul 
from which it sprang, and remains to guide and in- 
spire men even though the artist himself has gone. 
Gladstone once afirmed: ‘Forty years and over 
have I spent in the service of my country, and dur- 
ing that time I have come in contact with sixty of 
the master-minds of the world, and all of them were 
Christians but seven.”’ 

“The modern world,” it has been said, “‘is anxious 
to have instruction in certain directions, from any 
who are qualified or otherwise to impart that knowl- 
edge. What is it? It says, “Teach us how to get 
a living.’ But the Christian Faith while not ignor- 
ing the pressing fact of man’s livelihood, embraces 
the lesser when it enforces the greater, and so we 
strive to impart the secret which makes for blessed- 
ness and teaches men how to live.” 

So James, the Apostle of unrecorded service, 
gloriously dumb concerning his deeds, speaks with 


James, Man of Unrecorded Fidelity 213 


moving eloquence to the unpraised disciples in the 
midst of life’s exacting tasks, bidding them take 
heart of grace. Nothing done for Christ’s sake can 
fail of its due appraisement. ‘Though the undis- 
criminating world may not recognise our efforts, the 
appreciation is only deferred. 


“My crown is in my heart, not on my head; 
Not deck’d with diamonds and Indian stones, 
Nor to be seen ; my crown is call’d content.” 


Unrecorded, they shall not remain unrewarded. 
One day, when the toilsome round need no longer 
be trodden, when the warrior scarred by many an 
assault lays down his weapons, when the implements 
of our life-work are handed to those who shall take 
up the task, we shall hear the tones of that loved 
voice saying, “Well done, thou good and faithful 
servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” Then 
shall all the struggles we now endure, the misunder- 
standings and lack of appreciation which damp our 
ardour, be seen in their true proportions. ‘Then 
shall the heart rejoice in the glorious heritage of 
the sons and daughters of God. Till that day dawns, 
be like James, “steadfast, unmovable, always 
abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye 
know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.” 


XII 


JUDAS, THE MAN OF PERVERTED 
POWERS 


“Judas Iscariot, one of the twelve, went 
to betray Him.” 
—MArRK 14: 10. 


SOME men have a strange title to fame. One for 
his valour on the battlefield is remembered with 
pride by his fellow countrymen. Another is famous 
because of the influence he wielded, the genius he dis- 
played, or the self-sacrifice and beautiful spirit which 
were characteristic of his life. But there are others 
who have a name because of their evil deeds. ‘The 
most famous or infamous of these who have sacri- 
ficed principle for pelf, honour for some proffered 
good of the passing hour, and who have betrayed 
the best that some gross desire might be satisfied, is 
Judas Iscariot. Was there ever a friend so faith- 
less, or a heart so heavily weighted with wickedness ? 
Did ever a day of promise thus fall to night amid 
clouds so dark and full of terror? For in this sen- 
tence is summed up the tragedy of a soul: ‘Judas 
Iscariot, one of the twelve.’ What might have been 
his wealth in things spiritual! What privileges were 
his, walking with the blessed Lord in the intimacy of 
such discipleship! Yet in spite of what he might 
have been, he fell so low that to posterity he should 
become the synonym for basest treachery and black- 
est guilt. 
214 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 215 


Wuy Was JupAs ONE OF THE TWELVE? 


Judas Iscariot was the only member of the com- 
pany who was not a Galilean. His name hints at 
this, for he was the man of Kerioth, probably a town 
in Southern Judea. But we are more concerned to 
ask why did Christ choose him if he were so evil- 
hearted? It is a question that has often been asked. 
Did Jesus know full well when calling Judas into the 
apostolic company that it was he who should eat the 
bread of friendship and then lift the heel of bit- 
ter enmity? Wasit simply that the Scriptures might 
be fulfilled? Some have argued that it was; that 
Jesus knew exactly that this was a man capable of 
the most villainous treachery and that, in order that 
the Divine purpose might be brought to completion, 
a scoundrel was chosen to be the friend of the Man 
he was to betray. But it has been said that “Iscariot 
was not chosen merely to be a traitor, as an actor 
might be chosen to play the part of Iago. The end 
pointed at in the Scripture quoted might be ulti- 
mately served by his being chosen, but that end was 
not the motive of the choice.’’ Were it otherwise, 
it were a contradiction of Christ’s attitude to this 
man, for though he was “Judas Iscariot, who also 
betrayed Him,” he was also ‘‘one of the twelve.”’ 

Then, does that mean that Jesus was deceived in 
him? Does it imply that our Lord did not fully 
know the kind of man He was calling? That hardly 
seems feasible because He chose the other disciples 
with such discrimination. Did He not describe 
Nathanael’s character before a personal acquaint- 
ance with him had been made? Did He not know 
the inmost thoughts of those disciples when they 


216 ‘The Master and the Twelve 


were mystified by His teaching? Did He not read 
the deep desires that lay beneath the rubbish of the 
years filling the heart of the Samaritan woman? 
There can be no doubt that Christ saw many things 
hidden from men; that He wielded powers unpos- 
sessed by others. His divinity demanded this, His 
unique mission implied it. But in the fact of the 
Incarnation lies another series of possibilities that 
must affect our view of this matter. To use Paul’s 
phrase: ‘“‘He emptied Himself of His glory.” He 
laid aside that which would interfere with the com- 
plete assumption of our humanity. And He became 
really man in all that the term involves, though in 
essence still divine. ‘This involved a certain volun- 
tary limitation of His powers, though it would not, 
because of His perfect relationship with God, pre- 
clude Him from enjoying those peculiar powers that 
were necessary for the special work He had entered 
the world to accomplish. Even as He was not omni- 
present, so, too, He may have laid aside omniscience. 
Certainly Jesus Himself admitted ignorance about 
some things, referring His questioners to the Father 
in whom alone complete knowledge of the universe 
and the Divine will for it was then to be found. 
Bishop Lightfoot states the position thus: 


“Tt is said by some that Christ in making His choice of 
Judas did not read the inmost depths and issues of his char- 
acter; and by others that seeing all distinctly even to the end 
He kept him near to Himself as one trusted equally with 
the others of the twelve. Both these forms of explanation 
involve partial solutions of infinite problems. The question 
raised by the first group leads us at once to the final mystery 
of divine Providence. This, as far as we can represent it 
to ourselves, deals with general results and not with indi- 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 217 


vidual wills. The question raised by the second group leads 
us at once to the final mystery of the union of perfect divin- 
ity and perfect humanity in the One Person of the Lord. 
And here the records of the Gospel lead us to believe that 
the Lord had perfect human knowledge realised in a human 
way, and therefore limited in some sense, and separable in 
consciousness from His perfect divine omniscience. He knew 
the thoughts of men absolutely in their manifold possibilities, 
and, yet, as a man, not in their actual future manifestations. 
These two final mysteries are not created by the fact that 
Judas was chosen by Christ among the twelve. ‘They really 
underlie all religious life, and indeed all finite life. For 
finite being includes the possibility of sin, and the possibility 
of fellowship between the Creator and the creature.”’ 


Where then does this lead us?: Surely in one way 
it makes Christ more truly one with us. He chose to 
be subject to our limitations. He was truly man. 
But because both His relation with God and His mis- 
sion among men were unique, He had powers of dis- 
cernment and of insight withheld from the rest of 
the race. In general the prophecies regarding the 
Messiah would be known to Jesus, and the future 
would be in broad outline revealed also, and with 
that there would be all essential knowledge of life’s 
happenings and man’s needs. ‘This shows us, then, 
how Judas came to be chosen. Jesus read the man’s 
character even as He had read the rest. He saw 
Judas to be a man who could render much service. 
He was doubtless a man of sagacity, clearheaded 
and of sound judgment, and as such he might be of 
great assistance to the Master. His knowledge of 
the world and his capacity for finance could all be 
utilised for the Kingdom. So Judas was called. He 
was chosen like the others because of the gifts he 


& 


218 The Master and the Twelve 


displayed, and the personal contribution he could 
make to the efficiency of the Twelve. He was not 
given the bag because he was a thief. He became a 
thief because he had the bag. 

Granting all this, however, Christ discerned even 
more. He saw that Judas was a man in which the 
possibilities were great for evil as well as good. He 
had a mind that alternated between the high and 
the low, the spiritual and the sordid. Which set of 
desires would triumph? ‘There were wonderful po- 
tentialities if Judas would only choose the good. 
He might not only place the kingdom and its af- 
fairs on a sound basis, but also could commend the 
word he preached by his knowledge of what the 
commercial man of his day had to face. But if he 
should choose the lower? ‘Then were there possi- 
bilities terrible to contemplate. He might be so 
driven by selfish desires and sordid ambition that he 
would stop at nothing. He would sell his choicest 
possessions, he might betray his best friends if he 
could make something out of the transaction. We 
sum up the whole matter by saying, Christ chose him 
to be an apostle, not a traitor; Judas eventually chose 
to be a traitor, not an apostle. 


Jupas Hap Some QuatitTies THAT 
ACHIEVE GREATNESS 


He possessed a certain amount of real talent. 
That is evidenced by the position he enjoyed, for 
granting that their limited finances did not offer 
much scope for exploitation, on the other hand, it 
may be urged that the straitened circumstances in 
which they often lived required the most careful hus- 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 219 


banding of their means. Quite early, it would ap- 
pear, Judas showed marked ability in this direction. 
By common consent he took charge of the funds, 
and his capable arrangement of their affairs made 
the choice seem a happy one. We have no infor- 
mation regarding the source of their supplies, but 
it is conceivable that gifts in gratitude for some re- 
markable cure, or in acknowledgment of blessings 
received under the Master’s ministrations would oc- 
casionally find their way to the treasury. While, re- 
membering that some of the disciples had formerly 
been engaged in prosperous undertakings, it is quite 
possible that they would sometimes receive remit- 
tances from their friends. 

But apart from that aspect of things, there would 
be a certain quiet capability and shrewdness exhib- 
ited by this man which would be a great satisfaction 
to Jesus. Judas would be invaluable when once he 
had conquered his baser tendencies. He would not 
be prone to adopt impossible schemes nor follow 
will-o’-the-wisp tactics that the over-zealous might 
suggest as a means of extending the Kingdom. He 
was too sane. He would not be likely to allow any- 
thing in the nature of a revolutionary coup such as ., 
his namesake, Judas of Gamala, or his fellow-dis-~ 
ciple, Simon, the Zealot, might have loved. He was 
too sagacious. On the contrary, an ordered, sys- 
tematic mind such as his would be inclined to insist 
on the methods Christ had laid down as most ef- 
fective—the pervasive power of the Gospel as illus- 
trated by the leaven in the meal, the healthful effects 
produced by salt, or the guiding and gladdening 
light of a city set on a hill. Such a well-balanced 
mind would do much in coming days if only grace 


220 The Master and the Twelve 


were allowed to dominate the soul, and in possess- 
ing such a disposition which would not be unduly 
affected by life’s vicissitudes, Judas had one of the 
indispensable elements of greatness at his command, 
coupled with power to visualise future developments. 


iz 


. . - Bless’d are those 

Whose blood and-judgment are so well commingled 
‘That they are not a pipe for fortune’s finger 

‘To sound what stop she pleases.” 


That he could see ahead is evident. The fact that 
Jesus called him is only one side of the matter. 
Judas obeyed that call. What were his reasons? 
One of them, at any rate, was the appeal Christ 
made to his better nature, and the practical demon- 
stration of real religion which Judas witnessed. 
There was nothing in Christ’s teaching to liken to 
the dry dialectics and profitless hair-splitting which 
characterised current religion. Nor was there that 
glaring disparity between precept and practice with 
which Judas had often been confronted among the 
ecclesiastics of his experience. But there was not 
only genuine concern for the common good, but also 
what is even more to the point, genuine goodness be- 
hind that concern. Christ’s conquest up to that 
point had been the triumph of a noble personality 
over one who could appreciate virtue, and who some- 
times felt the lure of honour and integrity as things 
to be coveted. ‘The musician of limited ability is 
often keenest in his appreciation of a master’s 
genius, even though he knows he can never excel in 
such splendid fashion, and there was something in 
the exalted character of Christ which made even 
Judas desire a life so selfless and sublime. When, 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 221 


too, he heard the Master speak of that Kingdom in 
which all lesser dynasties would be merged, his 
complex nature, with its strange mingling of what 
was best and basest, was moved to marvel at the 
coming glories in which the disciples should share. 
Thus as much as in the case of any of the disciples, 
the choice of Judas as one of the company was justi- 
fied. He had the same opportunities of advance- 
ment in knowledge and in grace. The same help- 
ful influences operated on his soul, urging him to 
daily increasing love of the pure and unselfish. Why, 
then were they ineffectual? We have seen some of 
the Twelve moving steadily onward from unworthy 
views and selfish ambitions to a finer spirit and 
deeper love for Christ. They were not more free 
to choose the better way than Judas, nor did he lack 
any advantage they enjoyed. The difference was 
wholly due to Judas himself. Christ’s call imposed 
responsibility which is the invariable accompaniment 
of privilege, but the Master was blameless in that. 
The opportunity of turning the soul to noble and 
worthy aims confronted this man as it does all men 
who meet with Christ, and he deliberately allowed 
the base to master his soul. Sin has been aptly de- 


fined as “‘the deliberate and wilful act of a free { © 


agent who sees the better and chooses the worse,” 
and here we see the effects of that choice. 


Jupas DisREGARDED THE CONDITIONS 
OF GREATNESS 


These are patient obedience to the known right 
and undeviating integrity of character. Perhaps 
Judas did not know the exact moment when deterio- 


222 The Master and the Twelve 


ration set in. A man may have the seeds of consump- 
tion in his body, and may even be in the grip of that 
fell malady for a time without knowing it. Then the 
disease manifests itself and instant steps to combat it 
are imperative. ‘There came a day when Judas con- 
sciously felt himself out of tune with the Master and 
His message. There had been serious spiritual de- 
cline, perhaps due to neglect of personal devotions 
and yielding to temptation. Judas secretly yet cer- 
tainly broke faith with his Saviour and his better 
self. Heaven is not reached by a single bound, nor 
hell by a single fall. Others had been tempted. 
They had been overtaken by faults due to their 
frailty or their fickleness, but though they fell it was 
with their faces toward the light, and penitently they 
rose to strive again to follow Christ. With Judas 
it was different—but only because he willed it, and 
so, as the poet puts it: 


“Tt is the little rift within the lute, 
That by and by will make the music mute, 
And ever widening slowly silence all.” 


The first deviation from the right, whatever it was, 
led to a series of petty pilferings and minor misdeeds 
which, though they may not have been too serious 
in themselves, yet like dead leaves on the surface of 
the stream plainly indicated the direction of the cur- 
rent. The first to detect the change would be the 
Master Himself, though it would be in the demean- 
our of the man. There came a cloud dimming the 


. brightness of his faith, and an apparent inability to 


to look into the Lord’s face when he was addressed. 
There were periods of moodiness, flashes of temper 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 223 


and flushes of colour which denoted a heart dis- 
quieted. And although the matter was not openly 
discussed, it is impossible to believe that the Saviour 
did not endeavour to persuade this errant soul to 
return to the paths he had forsaken. 

Had the others any hint that something was 
wrong? Without being able to bring positive proof 
of his defalcations, there is no doubt they had their 
suspicions. Gifts which ought to have replenished 
the treasury apparently did little to relieve the 
stringency sometimes felt. But their occasional 
questions were either skilfully parried or else re- 
sented, and suspicion hardened into conviction that 
Judas was unsatisfactory. 

If any of the Twelve remained unconvinced of 
that, his doubts were dispelled by what happened 
in the little home at Bethany. Lazarus had been 
given back to his sisters from the spectral hand of 
death, and in glad acknowledgment of Christ’s 
matchless compassion Martha insisted that a supper 
should be given in His honour. It was but a simple 
meal, poor in contrast with, for example, the sump- 
tuous board and ostentatious display of Simon, the 
Pharisee’s, establishment, but that home was rich 
with love’s homage. The guests reclined at the 
table, Lazarus being next to the Lord, and the dis- 
ciples listening with delight to Christ’s conversation, 
and looking at Lazarus with eyes in which the light 
of wonder still lingered like the glow of sunset in the 
sky. Martha had been serving her friends, count- 
ing it too great an honour to leave to other hands, 
even had she not been too poor to have do- 
mestic help, and her sister had shared the privilege. 
Then Mary had slipped away for a time, returning 


224. The Master and the Twelve 


unnoticed. Kneeling behind Christ’s outstretched 
feet, she poured out, not only her cruse of spikenard, 
but also the overflowing love of her heart. She was 
hidden from the company as she crouched there; 
only One knew what she was doing, but suddenly a 
breath of perfume like the spice-laden air of evening 
swept the board. ‘“The house was filled with the 
odour of the ointment.” ‘What is that?” The 
question leapt from the lips of one, and wondering 
looks passed round. Confused as though detected 
in something unmaidenly, the colour mounting to 
cheek and brow and then receding till the face was 
deathly wan, Mary had risen to her feet. Her eyes 
were bright with unshed tears. She had not dreamed 
that her secret act of adoring love would have thus 
been read by all, for acting on impulse, she had 
brought the spikenard without thinking that its fra- 
grance would declare itself unmistakably in the 
room. But even as Jesus reassured her with a smile, 
and His hand laid on her arm, a question rang out 
like the discordant hooting of the owl while the 
nightingale sings in the copse, ‘‘Why was not this 
ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to 
the poor?” 

A flush of shame suffused the girl’s cheek. Looks 
of indignation and anger flashed upon the speaker. 
It was Judas! Apparently unconcerned and coldly 
critical, he heard Christ’s remonstrance, ‘‘Suffer her 
to keep it against the day of My burying.” Jesus 
knew the love which prompted this lavish devotion 
and praised the heart that was swift to show its 
gratitude to the living rather than wait till death 
should seal those eyes from the gladdening spectacle. 
Better a kind word in life than an oration at death. 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 225 


Better a bunch of flowers to the living than costly 
wreaths upon the chill tomb! Mary fled from the 
room, her hands vainly striving to hide the flow of 
tears, and the murmur of men speaking angrily in an 
undertone marked the end of that hour. But not 
the end of the incident. It had seared the mind of 
them all. They did not always see eye to eye with 
each other, yet they were agreed in this; a more 
despicable and wanton act of deliberate cruelty had 
never been known. Even though Judas had thought 
it, he might have had some sense of propriety and 
some consideration for those who had passed 
through so much, who had been lifted from the 
depths of sorrow to heights of happiness uncon- 
ceived by the human heart, and who had striven to 
show their gratitude to the Lord. Why had Judas 
acted so? The question was answered possibly by 
the outspoken Peter; certainly by the conviction now 
crystallising in the hearts of them all: ‘This he said, 
not because he cared for the poor; but because he 
was a thief, and having the bag took away what was 
put therein.” 

We cannot declare too firmly the fact that Judas 
was not like that at the outset. ‘There may have 
been tendencies to dishonesty; we have admitted that 
he was a man of mixed motives. But he was free to 
resist the evil and choose the good, to be an apostle 
or an apostate. Were it not so, were there fore- 
ordaining that made him act as he did then and 
afterwards, how could he be held responsible for 
his /knavery?- The truth /1s, ‘he harboured. evil 
thoughts, he permitted his imagination to circle 
about forbidden things, and without intending to 
go to the lengths he did, he found, like Samson, 


226 The Master and the Twelve 


that a man may play with fire, but he cannot carry 
it in his bosom and not be burned. Unwittingly he 
had revealed the actual state of things to his fel- 
low-apostles, and their manifest disgust with his 
mercenary ways precipitated the crisis of his 
Carecn! 

Doubtless, a feeling that he had lost caste made 
Judas somewhat reckless. It was plain that the 
Kingdom was a shadowy, insubstantial dream, and 
nothing in the way of tangible recompense was 
likely to accrue from that direction. It was even 
more evident that it was impossible to retain his 
place among the Twelve. ‘They knew too much 
and suspected more. How then could he make the 
best of a difficult situation and recoup himself for 
the profitless time he had spent with these Gali- 
leans? 


Jupas Forreirep His Last CHANCE OF 
GREATNESS 


by sordid selfishness. Several attempts have been 
made in recent years, with an ingenuity worthy of 
a better cause, to place Judas in a more favourable 
light than that of a base-hearted traitor. It has 
been suggested that he did not really intend to be- 
tray Christ to His enemies, All he had in mind 
was a Strategic attempt to force the Master’s hand. 
This may have been due to impatience. Like the 
others, Judas had seen Christ turn aside from prof- 
fered kingship, and he had been disappointed. He 
knew that the Lord possessed marvellous powers, 
yet He consistently refused to reap any benefit from 
their use either for Himself or His friends. He 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 227 


was too spiritually-minded to see His chances or 
seize the advantages that were thrust upon Him. 
So, argue the ingenious apologists, Judas conceived 
this plan. When Christ actually found Himself 
arrested, and in the grip of his foes, rather than 
let the sceptre be wrested from His hands, He 
would be compelled to declare Himself as the Mes- 
siah-King. The lowly guise of the Galilean 
Teacher would be thrown aside. The angelic le- 
gions would be marshalled against the craft of 
Judaism and the power of Rome, and the victory 
would be complete. His Kingdom would come! 

Even John Ruskin, usually so safe a guide, de- 
scribes the act of Judas as mercenary rather than 
treacherous: “He was only a common money-lover, 
and like all money-lovers did not understand Christ 
—couldn’t make out the worth of Him or meaning 
of Him. He didn’t want Him to be killed. He 
was horror-struck when he found that Christ would 
be killed; threw his money away instantly, and 
hanged himself. How many of our present money- 
seekers, think you, would have the grace to hang 
themselves, whoever was killed? But Judas was a 
common, selfish, muddle-headed, pilfering fellow; 
his hand always in the bag of the poor, not caring 
for them. He didn’t understand Christ; yet be- 
lieved in Him much more than most of us do, had 
seen Him do miracles, thought He was quite strong 
enough to shift for Himself, and he, Judas, might 
as well make his own little bye-perquisites out of 
the affair. Christ would come out of it well enough, 
and he have his thirty pieces. Now that is the 
money-seeker’s idea all over the world.”’ 

If these explanations were correct, they would 


228 The Master and the Twelve 


plainly contradict the considered judgment of those 
who knew Judas best, and who could form an opin- 
ion of the man. What is the verdict of his asso- 
ciates? ‘That he was a traitor and a thief. Im- 
patient because Christ’s kingdom tarried? John 
the Baptist was perplexed by those delays. When 
he was flung into prison, at the mercy of the venom- 
ous Herodias, he contrived to send a message to the 
Master, “Art Thou He that cometh or look we for 
another?” But his impatience did not cause him 
to become a plotter against Christ, even though 
delay for John meant death. 

From what we know of Judas, we can construct 
the probable theory that lay behind the course he 
took. He had rendered his own position untena- 
ble. As we have said, he had come to regard Jesus 
as an unpractical visionary whose promises and 
prognostications remained unfulfilled, and so he 
determined to secure what he could, and covertly 
escape from the district as soon as he felt safe. He 
knew the hatred of the priests and their fervent de- 
sire to stifle this Nazarene, and he was sufficiently 
astute to see the difficulties that would arise with 
Pilate on the one hand, and the populace on the 
other, unless their plans could be arranged secretly. 
There must be a sudden swoop before any one sus- 
pected what was on foot, and that would mean 
knowing just when and where to find their. victim. 
Moreover, it would be a distinct advantage to the 
leaders to have Jesus denounced by one of His own 
disillusioned disciples, and for such reliable infor- 
mation they would be prepared to pay handsomely. 
Judas certainly never intended to betray Christ for 
thirty pieces of silver; it is equally sure that be- 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 229 


trayal was the one thing he had in mind. What it 
might mean to Christ was no longer his concern: 
He might escape or He might not. Judas was in- 
tent on his own retreat with a respectable sum as 
recompense for the risks he ran and the odium 
which would follow. And as his purpose hard- 
ened, no memory of past privileges or the faith 
Christ had reposed in him had any effect to move 
him from his dastardly course. Shakespeare might 
have been describing Judas, as well as Shylock, 
when he said: 


“You may as well go stand upon the beach, 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height; 
You may as well use question with the wolf, 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops and to make no noise 
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven; 
You may as well do anything most hard, 
As seek to soften that—than which what’s harder— 
His Jewish heart.” 


But why do we say that Judas did not intend to 
do this deed for such a paltry sum? Thirty pieces of 
silver would amount to only about £4, and grant- 
ing that the purchasing power might have been 
double, it was inadequate as a motive for such a 
crime. ‘herein lies our answer. Judas resolved to 
sell his information, but he was gauging the price 
it would bring by the anxiety of Christ’s antago- 
nists to complete His downfall. But he failed to 
allow for a subtlety which was superior to his own. 
Once his decision was made, he sought an early op- 
portunity of meeting with the rulers. His refusal 


230 The Master and the Twelve 


to divulge his mission to any but the principals, 
coupled with the ill-restrained vehemence of the 
man, secured the interview he sought, and with the 
doors shut, Judas laid his plans before them. He 
saw the intense satisfaction that gleamed in the 
eyes of some, and even the air of unconcern that 
others assumed could not conceal from Judas that 
his mission was most opportune. Standing apart, 
he watched their faces as they discussed his sugges- 
tion in an undertone. Would they agree? He is 
beckoned to approach the table again, and to his 
relief, they consent to his proposition and fix the 
details of their plans. 

‘‘And now, my masters, that the place and hour 
alone remain to be decided—and that shall be made 
known to you as soon as I have the means of find- 
ing out the Galilean’s movements—there is an- 
other small matter to be discussed. What shall be 
my reward for thus secretly putting Him into your 
hands?” 

His greedy, glinting eyes scanned the council. 
They knew, of course, that a price would be de- 
manded, but in the fashion of the East, no hint of 
such considerations had passed on either side until 
this moment. | 

There was silence. Then Caiaphas, fingering his 
beard, turned to Judas. “Ah, true! Thy reward? 
Well, is it not enough that thou hast wreaked thy 
revenge upon the Deceiver? We can promise that 
thou shalt see Him well and truly tried, and with- 
out doubt made to suffer for the sharpness of His 
tongue and the spell of Beelzebub He has cast over 
the common people. No? Not enough? Thou 
dost require fuller payment than the knowledge 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 231 


thou hast acted as a son of Jacob ought against a 
blasphemer and profane? ‘Then, because we hold 
this Jesus to be altogether one unworthy of our na- 
tion, thou shalt have thirty pieces of silver—the 
price of a slave, dog. Now, go!” 

‘Thirty!’ A glow of anger overspread the brow 
of the betrayer. “Thirty pieces! My lord Caia- 
phas is pleased to jest. ‘This is no slave! Though 
I may have little cause to love Him, He is a man 
of noble qualities, and by the people He is accounted 
a prophet. Let it be three hundred, and I am con- 
tents 

“Nay, thirty it shall be, and not even the dust of 
the balance shall be added thereto. Now, what 
sayest thou?” 

‘Then I refuse to do thy bidding,” replied Judas. 
“Let another be sought to track the lion to his 
lair. ‘Thou shalt not have mine aid; no! not by 
the smallest finger of this hand shall thy plottings 
be furthered.” 

A scowl darkened the face of the High Priest. 

“Plottings! ’Tis an ugly word on thy lips. 
Thou dost refuse, and dost presume to accuse us. 
Look, thou, to this.” His fingers clutched the table 
as though he would fain grasp the throat of this 
man staring so insolently in his face. ‘Thou didst 
come to sell the Nazarene, to put Him in our power. 
Dost thou not perceive that thou hast put thyself 
also in our hands? Refuse now to proceed in thy 
course, and word shall be carried to thy fisher- 
friends—to yon stout-limbed Simon, perchance— 
and what shall save thee then? Plottings! Didst 
thou not come with thy skilfully woven web, in 
which this Jesus should be ensnared? Didst thou 


232 The Master and the Twelve 


not ask for silver as the price of thy betrayal of 
Him whom thou didst call Master? Choose, then. 
Thirty pieces for thy part, or thy life forfeit to 
Simon Peter—which ?”’ 

Judas was subtle, but even he was no match for 
the crafty Caiaphas. He was indubitably in their 
power. Either he must betray Christ as he had 
proposed, or be denounced to the disciples, and 
after what had passed, coward at heart as he 
was, Judas felt that he had to submit. Better 
far had he gone forth then, and hanged himself. 
At least he would have stayed his heart from its 
vile pursuit. But believing there was no way of 
escape, he agreed to the bargain Caiaphas had made, 
and foiled and fuming, went out into the night, black 
as his own base soul. He had covenanted with them 
—he, one of the Twelve—and in spite of himself, 
for thirty paltry pieces of silver. 


“Still as of old, 
Man by himself is priced. 
For thirty pieces Judas sold 
Himself, not Christ.” 


With that foul deed looming large in his breast, 
see Judas suffering the pointed pangs of a now pro- 
testing conscience. There in that Upper Room, he 
must take his place as one of the trusted friends of 
Christ. It was necessary in order to ascertain what 
the Master’s movements were likely to be that night. 
Yet it meant submitting to the gentle touch of those 
hands, as the condescending Saviour knelt to wash 
those feet which would soon be speeding on their 
treacherous errand. It meant listening to those ten- 
der words of farewell, and looking into those eyes 


Judas, Man of Perverted Powers 233 


which in turn seemed to search the hidden fastnesses 
of his being. It meant hearing those loving tones 
saying, ‘‘Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of 
you shall betray Me,” and the solemn warning which 
even then might have changed one less hardened in 
sin. Yet he had the effrontery to ask with the oth- 
ers, “Is it I?” It meant reclining there and re- 
ceiving from Jesus the morsel called ‘‘the sop,’ 
which was understood to be showing signal favour 
to one of the guests. Surely this was heaping coals 
of fire on his head! With profound relief he heard 
Christ say, ““That thou doest, do quickly.”” It gave 
him an excuse to leave those accusing eyes and to 
escape from the dark looks of his former friends. 
Hastening along the streets of the capital, looking 
back again and again to see if he were being fol- 
lowed, he sped on his errand. He loathed himself 
almost as much as those to whom he was going, but 
he knew he was truly in their power. The sooner it 
were over, the better! 

We know only too well what followed. The gar- 
den was their rendezvous. There the armed party 
came upon the Master and His disciples. The pre- 
arranged signal was given: Judas went up to a white- 
clad figure emerging from the shadows to where the 
moon cast a pattern of fretted silver through the 
trees, and setting those blasphemous lips against the 
sacred cheek, he said, ‘Hail, Master!” The brief 
show of resistance on the part of Peter was swiftly 
overcome, and Christ was in the grip of His captors. 

‘The money was paid over, but like a haunted man, 
Judas lurked in the shadows of the High Priest’s 
court. It seemed as though every stone were crying 
out against him. Thief! Traitor! Murderer! 


234 The Master and the Twelve 


His impulse was to flee, but bonds intangible yet 
too strong to break held him there till he should see 
the end of that night’s work, The examination be- 
fore Annas and Caiaphas resulted in condemnation, 
and the Prisoner was sent to Pilate. ‘Then Judas 
could endure it no longer. The accursed silver 
burned the fingers that clutched it. These priestly 
plotters had tricked him. His own bad heart had 
led him into a deed that now made life a hell. The 
council was just dispersing as he burst into the hall, 
and cried out in passionate tones, ‘‘I have sinned in 
that I have betrayed innocent blood.” There was 
mocking laughter as a well remembered voice re- 
plied, ‘“What is that to us? See thou to it!” He 
flung the silver contemptuously in their faces and 
went out to his doom. 


“The moving finger writes; and, having writ, 
Moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit 
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, 
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.” 


Truly he had sinned, and his sin was but the cul- 
minating tragedy of a man of perverted powers. So 
much had been possible. His evil propensities 
might have been overcome, and his life have been a 
noble thing. He was chosen to be a companion of 
Christ; he chose to be the betrayer of the best 
Friend mankind ever saw. Deterioration, by slow . 
degrees brought death, and the man of promise is 
branded to all time as pervert, the one-time apostle 
as apostate thrice-accursed. 


XIIl 
THE MASTER OF THE TWELVE 


“Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast 
the words of eternal life. And we be- 
lieve and are sure that Thou art that 
Christ, the Son of the living God.” 
—JOHN 6: 68-69. 


WE now change our point of view. Our atten- 

tion hitherto has been centred on the Apos- 
tles. We have endeavoured to understand their dif- 
ferent dispositions, to follow the development of 
their character, and to gain some fuller idea of what 
discipleship means. But now we turn from the pools 
and lakelets which like mirrors reflect something 
of the glory of the blue sky and the splendour 
of the midday sun, and though our eyes may be daz- 
zled by its brilliance, we would fain look on the Sun 
of Righteousness. 


Curist’s LovE oF HUMANITY 


This must have impressed His friends from the 
outset. He was entirely different from other reli- 
gious leaders, for while they held aloof from men, 
making them realise the impassable barriers erected 
by a fictitious holiness, Christ, on the other hand, 
not only mingled with the ordinary folk about Him, 
but seemed to find satisfaction in their companion- 


ship. [his much is certain. When the call that 
235 


236 The Master and the Twelve 


separated Him from His life at the carpenter’s 
bench came to Him, the solitary way commenced. 
The home at Nazareth was virtually closed to Him. 
His former friends and associates disliked the idea 
that one of their own number should be set in the 
seat of the Rabbis without either the privileges or 
the education that were supposed to be indispensable 
for such an exalted position. In his peculiarly tell- 
ing style, De Witt Talmage says: ‘Hear me while I 
tell you of a poor young man who came up from 
Nazareth to produce a thrill such as has never been 
excited by any other. Napoleon had around him 
the memories of Austerlitz and Jena, but here was 
a man who had fought no battles, who wore no 
epaulettes, who brandished no sword. He is no 
titled man of the schools, for he never went to 
school. He had probably never seen a prince, or 
shaken hands with a nobleman. ‘The only extraor- 
dinary person we know of as being in his company 
was his own mother, and she was so poor that in the 
most delicate and solemn hour that ever comes to a 
woman’s soul she was obliged to lie down amid 
camel drivers grooming the beasts of burden. I im- 
agine Christ one day standing in the streets of Jeru- 
salem. A man descended from high lineage stands 
beside Him, and says, ‘My father was a merchant 
prince: he had a castle on the beach at Galilee. 
Who was your father? Christ answers, ‘Joseph, 
the carpenter. A man from Athens is standing 
there, unrolling his parchment of graduation, and 
says to Christ, ‘Where did you go to school? 
Christ answers: ‘I never graduated.’ The idea of 
such an unheralded young man attempting to com- 
mand the attention of the world! Yet no sooner 


The Master of the Twelve = 237 


does He set His foot in the towns or cities of Judea 
than everything is in commotion.” Thus, all higher 
considerations apart for a moment, Jesus was an 
outcast. His family failed to give Him any sym- 
pathy in His new work. His friends and fellow- 
countrymen viewed Him with suspicion and hostility. 

Is it any wonder that our Lord therefore 
longed for human companionship? In that at least 
He was made like unto His brethren. He knew 
what it was to be misunderstood. He knew the 
inevitable sense of estrangement and loneliness that 
follows. So as time went on, He sought and found 
friendship in unlikely places. The eager hearts of 
Andrew and John gave Him what others had denied, 
and among the bluff, unpolished, yet staunch-hearted 
fishers of the lake, as well as in the squalid haunts 
of the outcast, He, another outcast, flung off by His 
fellows, not for the baseness, but for the beauty of 
His life and character, found new friends. Perhaps 
it was primarily because Christ had experienced this 
lack of human company that He was drawn to those 
for whom society had no place. Certain it is that 
they felt He understood, and without pitying them, 
could sympathise and show the warmth of a loyal, 
disinterested regard. 

Later on, as Luke narrates, ‘“‘He chose twelve, 
whom also He named apostles.’’ ‘That indicates an- 
other phase of the matter. While the Master de- 
sired the friendship and human intercourse that 
could thus be His, He had other considerations that 
meant even more. He wanted those about Him who 
could enter into His life, who would by their cheer- 
ful companionship and understanding of His pur- 
pose, afford some relief from the critical and some- 


238 The Master and the Twelve 


times cruel antagonists that would confront Him. 
But His chief object was not to gain so much as to 
give. He wanted to impart the precious things of 
His gospel to those who could profit by His instruc- 
tion, and in that way, when His own ministry came 
to an end, the future good of the world would be se- 
cured. Meanwhile, they were to co-operate with 
Him in preaching the Kingdom, and in bringing the 
message of hope and comfort for which the hearts 
of men were waiting. He knew His own physical 
limitations. He who was so wearied by the heat of 
the toilsome way that He sank by the side of the 
Samaritan well to rest, who on another occasion was 
so exhausted by His arduous labours that He fell 
asleep in the storm-stricken vessel on the lake, 
could not hope to compass the great work single- 
handed, and so ‘‘He chose twelve.’”’ ‘There were 
others who had caught His spirit, and they too had 
a share in carrying the glad tidings afield, but these 
men of the chosen company were intended to be His 
intimates, and under His personal direction they 
were fitted for the peculiar tasks of those who were 
to be sent forth as messengers of the truth. That, 
as will be recalled, is the original meaning of the 
word, apostolos—a messenger sent with a peculiar 
mission. 


Curist’s MANIFEsT DIVINITY 


These men had not been long with the Master 
before they found that, while He was so human, 
without the airs and mock dignity that are assumed 
by those who would show their superior gifts, He 
was also other than an ordinary human teacher. 


The Master of the Twelve 239 


One thing that impressed them was His marvellous 
insight and His confident grasp of facts that had 
seemed the peculiar possession of the scribes. And 
yet, even there, they felt a difference. When the 
disciples recalled the wise and learned teachers of 
their faith, there was a well-remembered dreariness 
and unreality about their discussions that made re- 
ligion not only unattractive, but actually repellent. 
But when Jesus talked of the great Father of man- 
kind, it was with such an air of naturalness and sin- 
cerity that even these men, whose lives had been 
spent in active toil, and who in the midst of the 
vulgar and sordid had little aptitude to appreciate 
spiritual things, felt entranced. 

“To believe,” says Professor Bossuet, ‘‘to be re- 
ligious, implies that we adopt a definite attitude to- 
wards the universe around us, one absolutely dif- 
ferent from the uncertain views that have already 
been mentioned. ‘The man who really believes pene- 
trates, verily, to life’s deepest foundations, and does 
not pass them by with indifference. He does not put 
himself in Titanic opposition to the world, nor does 
he indulge in weary scepticism and passive resigna- 
tion. Neither, again, does he seek to delude him- 
self over the problems of life by the illusion of the 
Beautiful. He accepts the universe courageously 
and reverently. He believes that it is a part of an 
intelligent unity, and he finds in it, behind it, and 
beyond it an absolute something which gives a final 
support to his life. Even more than this, faith 
teaches us that we are related to the profoundest 
reality of existence in the very depth of our being; 
that we may gain courage and find our soul’s peace 
in it, and that we are permitted to call it ‘Our God.’ ” 


240 The Master and the Twelve 


The Master made the abstract concrete. He clothed 
divine truth in human garb till it came with irresisti- 
ble charm and appeal. His matchless stories were 
so easily grasped that the untutored were able to 
apprehend some of their meaning, while on the 
other hand, they were so profound that there were 
always unsounded depths for the thoughtful mind to 
plumb. He took the homeliest things and invested 
them with regal dignity. From the common ways 
of human life Jesus picked up the gems that other 
eyes had never seen, and when He held them up to 
the light of heaven, they flashed with the varied and 
scintillating rays of the diamond. The hen and her 
chickens illustrated the parental care of the Divine 
heart. ‘The mother kneading bread, patching a torn 
garment, salting the sparse portion of meat, or 
kindling the tiny lamp that gave light at eventide, 
were all pressed into the service of His gospel, and 
we feel how well Tennyson expressed it: 


“Tho” truths in manhood darkly join, 
Deep-seated in our mystic frame, 
We yield all blessing to the name 
Of Him that made them current coin.” 


The disciples felt this in their own hearts. None 
had ever thus made things so real and so attractive. 
There were vistas stretching before them that their 
wondering eyes had never beheld before, and such 
wisdom, such winsomeness, made its appeal to others 
as well as to them. In saying this, we are paying no 
fulsome compliment. ‘That were presumptuous if 
not profane: 


The Master of the Twelve 241 


“To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To throw a perfume on the violet, 
To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.” 


The multitudes instinctively recognised the au- 
thentic voice of the prophet, if not of One who was 
the prime source of prophecy. They flocked to His 
ministry and hung with wondering hearts upon His 
words. The Sermon on the Mount was a revelation 
to them of what God is and what faith could be, and 
even after the flight of centuries, its wealth remains 
unexhausted and its lofty principles remain un- 
equalled. Dr. John Watson, in The Mind of the 
Master, wrote: ‘‘“What must strike every person 
about Jesus’ sermon is that it is not metaphysical 
but ethical. What He lays stress upon are such 
points as these: the Fatherhood of God over the 
human family; His perpetual and beneficent provi- 
dence for all His children; the excellence of simple 
trust in God over the earthly care of this world; the 
obligation of God’s children to be like their Father 
in heaven; the paramount importance of true and 
holy motives; the worthlessness of a merely formal 
righteousness; the inestimable value of heart right- 
eousness; forgiveness of sins dependent on our for- 
giving our neighbour; the fulfilling of the law, and 
the play of the tender and passive virtues.” 

Wherever Christ went, no matter what type of 
audience He addressed, the effects were the same. 
He spoke to the heart because the heart had first 
spoken to Him. He saw the pain and perplexity 


242 The Master and the Twelve 


that were written large on many a face. There were 
some whose ‘“‘eyes were homes of silent prayer.” 
There were others whose lives seemed to be sub- 
merged by sorrow or by the struggle for existence, 
while yet again, there were hearts that longed for 
some spiritual good that had not been discovered. 
A Persian writer says: ‘“The object of all religions 
is alike. All men*seek their beloved; and all the 
world is love’s dwelling.”’ While we might agree 
with the first statement, we might be disposed to 
question his description of the world. Admittedly, 
with more or less interest, all men seek their Be- 
loved. The Psalmist describes his deep desire in 
graphic terms, likening himself to the hart, parched 
and faint, craving the cooling waters, and adding, 
‘My soul thirsteth for God.’ And in general, it 
was true of those people who listened to Christ. 
They were aware of deep yearnings and the unsatis- 
factoriness of life as He spoke. They felt that here 
was one who talked of the highest and holiest things 
with a clearness and confidence they had never 
known before, and they made open comparisons be- 
tween His methods and those of the Rabbis to 
whom they had listened in times past. But who 
dare say without some venturing to differ, that ‘‘all 
the world is love’s dwelling’? Without the light 
of Christ’s comforting words it would be impossible. 
There are now, even as in those days, grave prob- 
lems clamouring for solution. There are the wicked 
who prosper, and the godly who suffer though inno- 
cent. There are grievous burdens that not only 
bow the back, but tend to crush the heart as well. 
And it was to some of these questions Christ ad- 
dressed Himself. 


The Master of the Twelve 243 


It is true that when He applied the principles of 
His kingdom to the conditions about Him, He met 
with rebuke and opposition, and it has been placed 
on record that when He spoke of spiritual things in 
the terms of the material, He was sometimes misun- 
derstood. For example, when He was speaking of 
Himself as the bread which came down from 
heaven, there was an outburst of criticism, and sub- 
sequent declension. ‘‘Many of His disciples went 
back, and walked no more with Him.” But to their 
credit, it was then that the disciples who had been 
admitted into the inner circle, rightly gauged the 
value of His work, and when the Lord asked them, 
“Will ye also go away?” Peter, speaking for the 
others as well as himself, replied, ‘Lord, to whom 
shall we go?” With life’s many disappointments 
and hardships, its strivings and sorrows, its sin and 
sighings for deliverance, we may well echo the ques- 
tion, ‘““T'o whom shall we go?’ ‘There is none 
other who has the words of eternal life, of comfort 
and hope. We may strive to silence the voice that 
questions the justice and fairness of the world, bid- 
ding it be quiet as we might the child with his per- 
sistent and re-echoing, Why? But that cannot sat- 
isfy the heart, nor can it bring comfort when the 
soul is in dire straits. We may turn to other teach- 
ers, leaving the Scriptures as obsolete or lacking in 
novelty, but where shall we find the words of eternal 
significance and authority? 

Some have sought peace in oblivion. The heart 
that is saddened with the ceaseless struggle with 
poverty seeks in the flowing bowl, some solace from 
its cares. ‘The clouded brain forgets for a time its 
misery; it gains some kind of peace. It is a fool’s 


244. The Master and the Twelve 


paradise because it is a temporary palliative that 
afterwards leaves the soul a thousand times worse. 
That does not alter the fact that it is the most 
readily sought refuge by the world-ridden, baffled 
and broken-hearted. 

A more desperate remedy is the resort to drugs. 
The doping habit is no new thing. For many a year 
men have sought péace from their troubles in this 
way. To dip into De Quincey’s Confessions of an 
Opium-eater is to see the folly of it all. Yet the 
pace is so killing, that these days see an ever-increas- 
ing movement on the part of some who lack courage 
to face life, to get temporary relief in this way. We 
cannot think of the ravages that drug-taking has 
made in modern times without concern. The de- 
mand for sedatives is a growing one. Nor is it 
wholly confined to neurotic and morbid men and 
women. Both drink and drugs tend to a more des- 
perate remedy still. The time comes when drink 
fails to deaden the mind, and when drugs are found 
to lack their eficacy. Then the consequent wretched- 
ness is so intense, that women and men are forced 
to find some other way. What is it? There, 
through the city of London, winds that noble yet by 
night alluring river that seems to promise peace. 
We have stood on the Bridge of Sighs at Waterloo, 
long after midnight, and tried to fathom the depths 
of the human soul face to face with despair. Im- 
agine yourself, without a copper in your pocket, 
without a single roof in all those tens of thousands 
whose friendly shelter you could claim. You are 
cold, wet, miserable, hungry. Hungry! heart-hun- 
ery, yearning for peace and rest. Over the parapet 
the river glides swiftly and silently past. The lights 


The Master of the Twelve 245 


are reflected in its face. They shine as though de- 
noting the entrance to a new realm where the 
world’s tragedies and troubles no longer fret the 
soul. Do you wonder that there has been a splash, 
a gurgling cry of agonised disappointment as the 
soul has seen too late that this deceiver is worse 
than the others? 

To whom shall we go for an explanation of the 
world in which we live? Is it only a manifestation 
of energy? We listen with reverence to the voice of 
Science wherein it is itself reverent. We are awed 
by the marvels of the microscope and the wonders 
of the telescope, but it will not do for the intelligent 
mind to be denied an all-wise personal Creator. 
The heart of man cannot be satisfied with either 
pantheistic or material views. Every canvas of 
note hanging in our galleries of Art required some 
genius, and the man’s personality is expressed in his 
work. Then shall it be said that the wonderful 
scene that lies before our eyes as the sun gives his 
farewell kiss to the sea, to the sylvan glade, to the 
rugged rocks, needs no divine Artist? When we 
stand entranced beneath the spell of the moon, which 
makes the river gleam like a mirror of silver, and 
sets the hills in a shimmering ocean of light, are we 
beholding beauty that is simply the result of blind 
force? Lord Kelvin, when speaking of the adapta- 
tion of part to part in Nature, says, “‘Is it conceiv- 
able that the colours of the butterfly or of a beauti- 
ful flower should result from a fortuitous concourse 
of atoms, and having come by a fortuitous concourse 
of atoms, they should give pleasure, whatever that 
may mean, to another fortuitous concourse of atoms 
constituting myself? ... The atheistic idea is so 


246 The Master and the Twelve 


nonsensical that I do not see how I can put it into 
words.” The statue chiselled by the acknowledged 
skill of a master hand could not have “just hap- 
pened.” Neither could the glorious universe in 
which we find ourselves. Our national shrines, that 
stand through the centuries like poems in stone did 
not spring up in a night, like Jonah’s gourd, and 
man who is the Temple of the Holy Spirit has also 
the evidence of the great Architect upon him. Flint 
says: ‘“There must be infinitely more in God than we 
have any idea of. The finite mind can never stretch 
itself out in any direction until it is co-extensive with 
the Infinite Mind. Man is not the measure of God.” 

Christ, the Teacher of the Twelve and of the 
human race, has revealed the wisdom and love of 
the Almighty in a way that no other teacher has 
ever done. He pointed out the beauty that was 
shown by the valleys spangled with myriad flowers, 
like the rich embroidery on the raiment of a king; 
He did more, for He declared that not only did God 
thus clothe the grass of the field, but that man was 
dearer far to the Divine heart, and all that affected 
his happiness and welfare was of supreme moment 
to the Father. Can Materialism assert as much? 
One illustration will suffice. Strauss looked at the 
universe and seeing only mighty forces at work, that 
might well affright those who were without the 
faith Jesus taught, he wrote: ‘‘In the enormous ma- 
chine of the universe, amid the incessant whirl and 
hiss of its jagged iron wheels—amid the deafening 
crash of its ponderous stamps and hammers—in the 
midst of this terrific commotion, man, a helpless and 
defenceless creature, finds himself placed—not se- 
cure for a moment that on some unguarded motion 


The Master of the Twelve 247 


a wheel may not seize and rend him, or a hammer 
crush him to powder. This sense of abandonment is 
at first very awful.” 

Is the light of Nature sufficient for man’s guid- 
ance in life’s gloom and his comfort in its tragic 
hours? To quote Talmage again: “Men strike their 
knife through this Book because they say that the 
light of nature is sufficient. Indeed! Have the 
fire-worshippers of India, cutting themselves with 
lancets until the blood spurts, found the light of na- 
ture suficient? Has the Bornesian cannibal, gnaw- 
ing the roasted flesh from human bones found the 
light of nature suficient? Has the Chinese woman, 
with her foot cramped and deformed into a cow’s 
hoof, found the light of nature sufficient? Could 
the ancients see heaven from the heights of Ida or 
Olympus? No! I call upon the pagodas of super- 
stition, the Brahminic tortures, the infanticide of 
the Ganges, the bloody wheels of the Juggernaut, 
to prove that the light of nature is not sufficient.” 


CHRIST’s COMPASSION COMPASSED EVERY 
NEED 


He looked life in the face. No other saw as 
clearly as He did, nor did any see so much. The 
harassed breadwinner, the widow robbed by the un- 
scrupulous, the hireling oppressed in his wages, all 
found in the Man of Nazareth One who could show 
sympathy without appearing to patronise, and who 
could help the soul to help itself. Every case of in- 
justice or of wandering from the way of right 
through foolish pride awoke either His anger or 
His pity. Lowell has described Christ’s attitude 


248 The Master and the Twelve 


towards the oppressed and the struggling with mas- 
terly touch: the world’s rulers were uncaring, and 
its religious men heartless in their indifference, but 
the Master said: 


“With gates of silver and bars of gold 
Ye have fenced My sheep from their Father’s fold; 
I have heard the dropping of their tears 
In heaven these eighteen hundred years. .. . 


“Then Christ sought out an artisan, 
A low-browed, stunted, haggard man, 
And a motherless girl, whose fingers thin 
Pushed from her faintly want and sin. 


“These set He in the midst of them, 
And as they drew back their garment-hem, 
For fear of defilement, ‘Lo, here,’ said He, 
“The images ye have made of Me.’ ” 


It was thus that Christ regarded the people of 
that day, and He who had toiled in Nazareth knew 
the haunting fears of want that spectre-like hovered 
about the common path. He understood how be- 
cause anxious thought must be given to the things 
of time, the mind was overcharged so that it could 
not think of things eternal. But Peter was quite 
right. Christ had the words of eternal life, bidding 
care depart, and putting time into its rightful place. 
He knew the secret of serenity, and what is more, 
He could impart grace to the heart so that it might 
rise victorious over the onslaughts of adversity. 

The same thing was true of the sorrows that com- 
passed mankind. He had seen death stalk into His 
own home, and He knew the chill that fell upon it 
when His widowed mother wept over the still form 


The Master of the Twelve 249 


of her husband. He had seen it take the choicest 
of the flock, when childish laughter was silenced 
and the very light of life had gone out. What had 
He to say in the face of that dread visitant? Could 
He speak comfort to the broken heart, and re-kindle 
the lamp of happiness that had been so rudely over- 
turned and extinguished by the careless hand of 
death? ‘There are always well-meaning friends at 
such a time, but alas! how rarely can their words of 
condolence bring any real relief. When Hallam 
was cut down on the threshold of a great career, 
the blow struck Tennyson with crushing force. 
Their friendship was like that of Jonathan and 
David, and his lament is heard in spite of the sym- 
pathy that came to him: 


“One writes that ‘other friends remain,’ 


That ‘loss is common to the race’-— 
And common is the commonplace, 
And vacant chaff well-meant for grain. 


“That loss is common would not make 
My own less bitter, rather more: 
Too common! Never morning wore 

To evening, but some heart did break.” 


It is Christ alone who has brought life and incor- 
ruption to light through His gospel. A friend was 
preaching in London at the City Temple when he 
noticed a prominent public man in the congregation. 
This man had lost his only son upon the battlefield, 
—a son for whom he had lived, planned, toiled— 
and now everything he had achieved, even wealth 
and fame, seemed only a mockery. At the close of 
the service he made his way to the vestry, and with 
tears streaming down his face, he said, ‘‘What you 


250 The Master and the Twelve 


have been saying is right. When a man has re- 
ceived a blow such as I have, there are only three 
things left for him. It is either drink, despair, or 
God—and I am finding everything I want in God!” 
It was thus that the word of Christ had come to 
him, as it has to multitudes in their Gethsemane, 
strengthening and consoling and bidding them take 
heart again. Dr. J. D. Jones says: “Have we Chris- 
tian folk laid hold of this great and mighty Gospel ? 
Have we attained to the Christian view of death? 
Is not our sorrow far too unrelieved? Is there not 
a lack amongst us of that note of joy and triumph 
that goes sounding through the New Testament? 
Those of my readers who have read the Memorials 
of Sir Edward Burne-Jones will perhaps remember 
what he says about Browning’s funeral. It was far 
too sombre to please him. ‘I would have given 
something for a banner or two, and much would I 
have given if a chorister had come out of the tri- 
forium and rent the air with a trumpet.’ The 
trumpet—with its note of defiance and triumph— 
was what Burne-Jones wanted to hear. And he was 
right. That is the instrument with which to greet 
death and the grave.” ' 

For every soul in straits there is some gracious 
word that seems meant for the particular individual 
who most needs it at that precise moment. To the 
hopeless derelict, swept by seas of passion, the Sav- 
iour comes with His word of divine forgiveness, 
and that very word is charged with power not only 
to free the soul from the shackles of the past, but 
to set it with new heart and high purpose on the 
highway of holiness. To those who are overbur- 
dened with the cares of life, He speaks a word that 


The Master of the Twelve 251 


at once breathes calm and quiet to the anxious spirit; 
while to those who sail tempestuous seas of adver- 
sity, the voice that could rebuke the turbulent waves 
of Galilee, can bring peace that is passing wonder- 
ful. ‘To the blind, the halt, and the impotent, He 
speaks the authoritative word that brings light for 
darkness of soul, quickened powers for those who 
have stumbled in the way of right, and strength to 
battle and overcome to the weak and the baffled. 
Truly, never man spake like this Man! He 
teaches as one that has authority. His words ring 
true because He Himself is the truth, and His su- 
preme desire is to comfort, to redeem, and bless His 
brethren in the world He found so relentless and 
hard. Reverting to Ralph Connor’s The Sky Pilot, 
we find an illustration of the sense of reality of 
which we speak. The young minister had succeeded 
in commanding the respect and support of the 
ranchers, but there was one who ventured to air 
his objections to an account of Paul’s conflict with 
the irreconcilable element of Jerusalem. ‘TI say, of 
course, that’s in the Bible, ain’t it? Well, how do 
you know it’s true?’ The minister began patiently 
to give his reasons when one of his burly supporters 
intervened. ‘Look here,” he said to the youth, 
with a tone of authority in his voice, ‘How do you 
know anything’s true? How do you know the Pilot 
here’s true when he speaks? Can't you tell by the 
feel? You know by the sound of his voice, don’t 
you?” It took a little forcible persuasion on the 
part of the cowboy before the young agnostic was 
finally and finely convinced, but beneath the some- 
what uncouth argument lurks a great truth. It is 
‘the feel’’ of it when the Lord Christ speaks to men 


252 The Master and the Twelve 


that demonstrates the trustworthiness of His words, 
and that makes the soul realise that here indeed is 
One to whom the most profound spiritual truths are 
familiar, and who knows both God and the soul 
of man as none other. 


Curist’s COUNSEL STANDS UNIQUE 


With all their short-sightedness and failings, the 
Apostles realised that. Nicodemus had declared, 
‘‘Rabbi, we know that Thou art a teacher come 
from God,” and the Twelve came to endorse that 
view as they learned more of their Master. He 
walked on heights that were inaccessible to them, 
and saw the eternal verities as they had never been 
revealed to mortal eye. And yet He was so gracious 
and unassuming that they were seldom conscious of 
any restraint in His company. He was just one of 
them. Yet the most wonderful thing in their ex- 
perience of the Lord was the absolute harmony evi- 
dent in His life between precept and practice. 
Though He enunciated such apparently impossible 
principles for human life, they saw that He actually 
carried into effect the command He laid upon men. 
That was so unusual as to be unique. Ophelia lis- 
tens to the sage counsels of her brother, and with a 
touch of sarcasm says: 


“T shall the effect of this good lesson keep, 
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; 
Whiles, like a puff’d and reckless libertine 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
And recks not his own rede.” 


The Master of the Twelve 253 


The standards that Jesus set up for men were 
those by which His own life was regulated, and thus 
“the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us 
(and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the Only 
Begotten of the Father) full of grace and truth.” 


CHRIST CANNOT BE CLASSIFIED 


He is not one among the world’s teachers; He is 
the Teacher, unique in understanding, supreme in 
sympathy, and unparalleled in power to bless the 
human soul, and it is the comfort of the Christian 
and the crowning glory of Christ’s church that such 
a One is set forth for the homage and adoration of 
mankind. As Dr. Macfarland has pointed out, 
“The sovereign voice of Jesus is the ultimate au- 
thority for Christian thought and faith. Men are 
in question regarding the reality and nature of God, 
of sin, of judgment, of destiny. Where shall they 
turn? To the Council of Nicea, Chalcedon, or 
Trent? To Calvin or Arminius? No! The su- 
preme individual authority is Christ.” 

Happy is the preacher who can bring men not to 
hear the accents of his own voice, but to enable them 
to detect the tones of the living Christ speaking to 
their hearts as the word of life is unfolded. Happy, 
thrice happy he, if he can help his fellow-mortals to 
look beyond the channel through which the water of 
life comes and to reach the springs whence they flow, 
gushing and gladdening from the heart of the Mas- 
ter. ‘That is the secret of the effective witness of 
those men who were His pupils for those blessed 
years, and who later were filled with His Spirit. 
They preached not themselves but Christ. They did 


254 The Master and the Twelve 


not obtrude their own views, but made the Master 
live again before the eyes of their hearers. They 
were as the attendant who takes you through the 
Cathedral of Antwerp, and who, drawing aside the 
curtains that veil a masterpiece, leaves you face to 
face with the Christ. 

The world is weary with its quest for truth. It 
has tried substitutes for the Christian faith, but it 
has not found any who can speak to the heart’s deep 
need as Christ can. And it is only as there is a re- 
turn to Christ that peace can be restored to the race, 
and that the individual can find the strength, solace, 
and serenity, in which life is made noble and great. 
The men who have companied with Christ, who 
have sat at His feet and been taught the wondrous 
wisdom of His redemptive love, have been those who 
have done most for their fellows. This is suggested 
by the figure of one of America’s most brilliant 
preachers and one of her noblest sons, Bishop Phil- 
lips Brooks. As we sat in the church in Boston 
where he laboured so magnificently, we tried to pic- 
ture that saintly face in the pulpit, and to re-people 
the pews with the hushed multitude who there felt 
the presence of the Lord Himself. What was the 
secret of his power? ‘The statue erected in his mem- 
ory affords an explanation. There he stands, a fine 
commanding figure, with a quiet dignity that is regal. 
With the open Bible before him, he stretches out his 
hand in appeal to the passers-by. But there is an- 
other figure just behind, dominating the preacher 
with simple majesty. It is Christ. The cross still 
stands, but He is no longer nailed to it. He is there, 
living and triumphant, inspiring His servant with 
His presence, waiting to meet the needs of mankind, 


The Master of the Twelve 255 


and by His power to redeem the life from sin and 
equip the heart for splendid endeavour. 

Such is the Master of the Twelve. When shall 
He be accorded His rightful place as the Master 
of the world? He calls us to discipleship that we 
may not only know the blessedness of fellowship 
with Him, but that we may also be instructed and in- 
spired for truer service in the world. He will not 
thrust Himself upon the unwilling hearts of the race, 
but where there is a desire to know the mysteries of 
grace and the wonders of life, He is the only Teacher 
who can unlock the treasure-house of divine wisdom, 
and can lead the heart to Him, whom to know is life 
eternal. To whom shall we go? Where shall the 
world find balm for its many wounds, or the troubled 
find reassurance and calm? Where shall the sin- 
laden and the despairing find pardon and hope? 
Where shall the toiling multitudes whose way is dif- 
ficult, and the ambitious, adventurous reformer who 
treads the path perilous, find the grace that will be 
sufficient for their needs? There is only one answer: 
In Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. 
Those who tread the road of discipleship shall know 
the delight of intimacy with the Master. Learning 
of Him, they shall find rest unto their souls. They 
shall be enabled to reflect the radiance of His life, 
and sharing His travail, at last shall know the joy 
of the triumphant host who see the King in His 
beauty, and are blessed for evermore. 


THE END 













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